


Rocky Beginnings

by pyromanicofthesea



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2D is a sappy drunk, 2D is smarter than he lets on, 2D really has a problem, DENIAL ISN'T JUST A RIVER IN EGYPT, Did i mention that this is slow burn as all hell? Because this is slow burn as all hell, Drug Dealing, M/M, Murdoc has some serious shit he needs to work out, Murdoc is a jealous bastard, Murdoc is concerning, Murdoc is no better, Murdoc pretends to be a bigger ass than he actually is, Noodle is a badass from Day One, Recreational Drug Use, Russel is a clever cookie, Slow Burn, Stuart can be a spitfire when emotionally compromised, Trigger Warning: Homophobic Language, alcohol galore, at least in the beginning, eventual 2Doc, fluff at times, have a problem? talk it out holy shit it isn't that complicated, magic burny guitar essentially, mentions of Murdoc's shitty childhood, rating will change probably eventually, sort of demon magic? yeah something like that, true friendship is sitting in front of an NES and not killing each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyromanicofthesea/pseuds/pyromanicofthesea
Summary: There are some things about how the band met and what the band has gone through that aren't mentioned in interviews. Not that they aren't important, they just aren't mentioned. After all, not everyone needs to know the detailed version of your life story.





	1. The Rockiest of Starts

All he needed was some synthesizer equipment and he’d have everything he’d need for a top notch band. He’d be famous, once he got all of the equipment and found some bandmates, of course. Perhaps the blokes he was currently on a crimespree with would be interested?  
What Murdoc hadn’t anticipated was a liability on the other side of the store wall. He drove the stolen Vauxhall Astra into the front entrance of Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium, and evidently into the head of an at-the-time on-the-clock Stuart Pot.  
“Shit, shit, shit,” was Murdoc’s muttered mantra as he got out of the car and searched the few shelves that were still intact for the equipment he needed, disregarding the potential corpse that laid in a crumpled form in front of his car. The other people in the car fled upon realizing that Murdoc had hit someone, effectively escaping down the street before the manager came out of the shop’s backroom.  
“What the hell happened?” Murdoc froze a moment at the voice. “You, what do you think you’re doing?” Murdoc bit his lip, choosing to take the equipment he had gathered and run to his car. Some bystander from outside of the store must’ve called the police when he rammed through the storefront, because Murdoc hadn’t even managed to pull all the way back into the street before a couple of squad cars arrived. The cars blocked the only escape Murdoc had, forcing the man to surrender.  
As Murdoc was being arrested by one of the officers, another two went to investigate the damage. When they came upon the crumpled form of Stuart, the sentence Murdoc would end up facing was increased significantly.  
One week later, Murdoc was grumbling to himself as he walked out the doors of the courthouse. Thirty-thousand hours of community service, that was nearly three and a half years!  
_I’m never going to make it in a rockin’ band at this rate._ Murdoc sighed and glared at the ground. _Damned Devil must’ve cheated out on me. At least I’ve got the bastard’s bass._  
When Murdoc got into the car he currently owned, one catatonic Stuart Pot was sitting in the back seat, staring blank out the front windshield. As Murdoc started the car, he looked back at the second half of his sentence. Ten hours a week he had to look after this vegetable.  
“It would’ve been easier on the both of us if you’d have died,” Murdoc said, technically to Stuart but really to nothing. “You wouldn’t be stuck in the back of this shitty car immobile, and I wouldn’t be stuck looking after your sorry arse.” There was no other sound in the car except the radio quietly playing The Ramones. “Keep quiet if you agree,” Murdoc added, just for shits and giggles. Sure enough, the comatose passenger in the back seat didn’t make a sound. Eventually, unnerved by the man's one-eyed stare, Murdoc closed the still-colored eye. After second thought, Murdoc closed the eyelid of the void eye as well.  
Over the weeks, the quality bonding time the two spend ended up being much more violent than than courts had anticipated. Or, anyone else really. Murdoc and Stuart ended up in many compromising situations, not that Stuart was conscious during any of it. In one fateful incident in Nottingham, Stuart wound up much more conscious than normal.  
“Oh come on, Murdoc, you'll have to do something more exciting than little donuts,” one of the women on the sidelines in the Tesco parking lot called out.  
“Oi, Pot, keep quiet if you think we can do better,” Murdoc said. Stuart was in the passenger seat, no seatbelt, sitting quietly comatose. Murdoc grinned, and lined up his car for the biggest donut he'd ever attempted. The onlookers cheered as the tires screeched and smoke bellowed from the friction. One excitable woman decided to flash the driver, and it all went south from there.  
Distracted by a rather stunning pair of braless breasts, Murdoc didn’t realize he had lost control of the car. It all seemed to happen too fast and too slow all at once. Murdoc hit front first into a barrier pillar, the force of the crash sending Stuart through the windshield. Murdoc had been stopped by his seatbelt, which he unclicked with a long string of profanities after the crash. As Murdoc got out of the car and the smoke cleared, Stuart Pot could be seen in the distance, struggling to get up. Murdoc stared in disbelief as Stuart eventually managed to stand slowly. He turned to look at Murdoc at the same speed, albeit confused and eyes now matching in dark color. It appeared as if there was just a black hole where his other eye was, identical to the first injury. Murdoc couldn’t tell if Stuart could actually see anything, or if he was now blindly staring at Murdoc. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely certain if Stuart had lost his eyes entirely or not. Regardless, Murdoc walked up to the man, noticing that the only injuries that he had sustained were the possibly missing eye, some major scrapes, and a reverse coma. Well, if a reversal of a coma caused by impact could really be considered something negative such as ‘injury’. Stuart looked directly at Murdoc.  
“Aren’t you the guy behind that ugly car that went through the storefront?” he asked. Murdoc stood there in shock, surprised Stuart even remembered. As Stuart got closer, the questioning continued. “Wait, didn’t you hit me?”  
“Well, I mean, maybe a little,” Murdoc replied, not knowing what else to say.  
“Oh, alroight.” Murdoc raised an eyebrow as Stuart looked around.  
“Can you see any?”  
“It’s a bit fuzzy roight now, but I can see fings just fine,” Stuart replied with a nod. Murdoc looked closer, and realized that the darkness was solid. It looked almost as if Stuart’s eyes had been painted over. Murdoc looked at Stuart closely, noticing faint dents on the side of his head. The two dents gave Murdoc an idea. Well, he had two of them.  
“Hey, is it cool if I call you 2-D?” Murdoc continued before Stuart had a chance to respond. “Yeah? Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking. I’ve got this little band getting together, and a pretty boy like you would be just what we needed.” By we, Murdoc meant himself. He had no band as he made the offer. In fact, he only had his bass guitar that he had gotten through unsavory means.  
“Pretty? Are you flirting wif me?” Stuart smiled, revealing that his front two teeth had been knocked out as well. Whether that had happened after the first or the second crash, neither men knew. “I can play the keyboard, if your band needs somefink like that.”  
“Great, let’s go fetch your keyboard then, eh?” Murdoc looked nearly giddy. In his eyes, the future seemed to be getting brighter.  
“We got no car now though. You crashed this one too,” Stuart pointed out.  
“She'll still drive,” Murdoc said, scoffing at Stuart's concern. Evidently, when Murdoc went back to start the smoking car, it would not still drive. It wouldn't even start. Stuart gave Murdoc a black-eyed leer of ‘I told you so’. Murdoc’s only response was garbled by growls.  
The two ended up walking back to Stuart’s parents’ house. It was dark by the time they got there. It had been a rather uneventful five hour long walk, filled with Murdoc complaining about his car and rambling visions of how successful this new band he was creating could be. The only musical instruments they had with them were Murdoc’s bass. He had grabbed it before they ditched the car, and kept it slung over his shoulder. He didn't have a case for it, and wasn't able to grab his amp. Then again, this was no ordinary bass, and if the man downstairs was as great as Murdoc believed, maybe he'd get lucky and the bass would play strong without the amp.  
Stuart for the most part walked beside Murdoc in silence, staring off into the distance. Half of the time, Murdoc wasn’t sure if Stuart was conscious or sleepwalking. The other half, he was too caught up in his own fantasies of success to notice.  
Since Stuart no longer had a key to the house after the incident a year ago, Murdoc devised what he believed to be a foolproof plan. The two got into the back yard and under the window that was to Stuart’s old bedroom. Murdoc got up onto Stuart’s shoulders, barely able to reach the window even with Stuart’s six foot two height, and made an attempt to get the window open. There wasn’t a lock to pick though, and the window wouldn’t budge.  
“Oi, 2-D, you got a brick down there or something?” Murdoc’s voice was hushed, but his words were still hissed out.  
“Wot?” Stuart almost tipped Murdoc over. “You gonna try to break my room window or somefink?” Murdoc climbed down from Stuart’s shoulders, which Stuart interpreted as a yes. As Murdoc searched around the back yard for something to break the window with, Stuart leaned against the side of the house. A sudden throbbing pain had erupted from the sides of his skull as spots clouded his sight, causing his already imperfect vision to worsen. By the time Murdoc returned, Stuart was hunched over, holding the sides of his head in pain.  
“Hey, you good?” Murdoc asked, putting a hand on Stuart’s shoulder. “I still need to get back up to the window.”  
“Headache. I need my medication,” Stuart groaned through clenched teeth. It felt as if his skull was being split in two.  
“We’ll get it, we’ll get it,” Murdoc promised, saying anything just to get Stuart back into working condition again, “I just need to get into your room first. Where do you keep your meds?”  
“There should be a bottle or two in the nightstand drawer, I fink,” Stuart said quietly as he tried to stand up straight. “If they ain’t there, check the bafroom. It’s two doors down the hall.” Murdoc nodded, and climbed up onto Stuart’s shoulders with the brick. Stuart winced as Murdoc climbed, the contact and the actions aggravating his already painful migraine.  
“Go out front, I’ll go out the front door.”  
“My parents sleep downstairs, don’t wake ‘em up or they’ll call the police.” Murdoc took that information to heart. He wasn’t planning on getting caught again anytime soon.  
When the window shattered, the migraine worsened at the sound. Murdoc using Stuart’s head to get a little more of a boost up didn’t help either.  
Murdoc tripped over stuff on Stuart’s floor as he made his way over to the wall in search of a lightswitch. Once the light was on, Murdoc could see numerous different electric keyboards and electronics that Stuart must’ve used to create music. Murdoc bit his lip, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to carry all of this stuff in one trip. He knew a small bit about keyboards, and he grabbed a few of the nicer looking ones. Just as he was about to walk out the bedroom door, he turned back and looked at the nightstand beside Stuart’s old bed. Murdoc hesitated just a moment.  
_2-D had looked in a lot of pain,_ Murdoc thought to himself. He decided to set the electric keyboards down and go to the dresser. Inside he found multiple bottles of different strength acetaminophen pain killers. He managed to fit three of the extra strength grade bottles into his pockets. Murdoc grabbed the keyboards he was taking, shut the light off, and slowly made his way down the stairs.  
When he got the front door open - which was more difficult that it sounds with three total keyboards split between two arms threatening to slip out and fall onto the floor - Stuart was waiting outside, sitting on the front step doubled over and clutching his head in a similar fashion from earlier.  
“I got your pills,” Murdoc said, just loud enough for Stuart to hear. “They’re in my pocket.” Stuart perked up almost instantly. He got a hand into Murdoc’s pocket without care for personal boundaries. Stuart took three of the pills, not bothering to read which grade strength the pills in the bottle were. He put the bottle into his pocket, and took one of the keyboards from under Murdoc’s arms. Stuart turned back to shut the front door as Murdoc walked away, and with that, the two headed off to look for a place to stay for the night.  
“Don't you got a place to sleep?” Stuart asked after about half an hour of walking.  
“Slept in my car,” Murduc replied.  
“Oh.”  
The silence that the two walked in continued into the night. It was nearly three in the morning before Stuart spoke up again.  
“Want to get a hotel room for the night? I have a bit of money, so I could help pay.” Murdoc thought on it for many moments. He didn't have very much money, but it should be enough for a night or two.  
“Yeah, know where one's at?” Stuart nodded, and Murdoc noticed that the man's steps were a bit wobbled. If he had to guess, it must've been the painkillers kicking in. But, Stuart had taken the three earlier, and with Murdoc’s minor knowledge of how medication worked he knew that he would've noticed the man's actions almost three hours ago. That is, unless Stuart had taken more while they were walking.  
The silence the two were in wasn't terrible. Further into the night, it became more and more evident that Stuart was high from how many pills he had taken. It didn't matter though, because by dawn they reached the first motel in town.  
It was a rundown place that no one would've given a cent to, so when Murdoc and Stuart walked in wanting a room for the next twenty-four hours, the front desk manager didn't even bother to deny the two. Murdoc grumbled about the price, but it beat staying up even longer and walking about more.  
The room was small, with a bed and a couch. If you could call a stapled together mangey bundle of fabrics, dust, and a few dead rodents a couch. Murdoc was kind. He let Stuart share the bed with him. The electric keyboards were placed up against the wall, along with Murdoc’s bass. The bottles of pills were set on the nightstand, after Stuart took two more. He fell into a medicated sleep, which was good because Murdoc snored rather loudly.


	2. The Continuation of the Rockiest of Starts

When the late evening came around, Murdoc was the first to wake up. He looked over at Stuart, who was still sleeping, and decided that it was no use getting out of bed when there was nothing to get out of bed for. Murdoc fell back asleep.  
The two were awoken by a knock at the motel room door some time later. Murdoc got up and answered the door as Stuart grabbed his medication bottle.  
“What do you want?” Murdoc was obviously annoyed by being woken up. That poor maid at the door.  
“I need to clean the room before check-in. The front desk says you and your friend need to leave.”  
“I paid for this room, I’ll leave when my day is up,” he growled. Stuart looked over at the two at the door, and felt sorry for the maid. She looked worried, almost anxious.  
“Mister, you gave the front desk twenty pounds.” Stuart was confused. He could’ve sworn Murdoc had given the front desk much more. After all, Murdoc had seemed rather displeased with the price.  
“Give me twenty minutes to get my stuff together,” Murdoc replied, and shut the door. Stuart was about to say something, but given how steamed Murdoc seemed to be, he decided against it. Instead, he grabbed the pill bottles and the keyboard he had carried over.  
“Hey, you want me to grab the sheets or the pillows or somefink?” Murdoc looked over at Stuart, surprised at the offer for a moment.  
“Yeah, actually. Good thinking. We’ll sneak out the back and when we get another car, we’ll have bedding to use.”  
“Am I gonna be sleeping in the back wif you then?”  
“Do you want to sleep in the front?” Stuart shook his head, and Murdoc shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll be sleeping with me.” The suggestiveness of the wording didn’t go over Stuart’s head, but he ignored it nonetheless. They were friends, and Stuart hadn’t had many of those prior so perhaps this was just something friends did that he hadn’t found out about. Regardless, it was nice to feel wanted. Or at least, it was nice to feel that Murdoc didn’t hate him enough to make him sleep in the front seat. Or that mangy couch in the motel room, for that matter.  
“Do I still have a job?” Stuart asked after some time of walking in silence. Murdoc looked at him as if he was an idiot.  
“You were comatose for a year. What do you think?” When Stuart just shrugged, Murdoc growled. “No, of course you don’t still have a job, you dullard! Neither of us have jobs, and we’re nearly flat broke. We got no car, hardly any money, no place to sleep or shower or fuck!”  
“What does sex have to d-”  
“Nothing, I’m just saying! We don’t ‘ave anything to do anything at all.” Stuart looked down, suddenly overwhelmed by Murdoc’s frustration.  
“‘M sorry for makin’ you mad,” he said quietly, “I didn’t mean to imply anyfing.”  
“Whatever.” Despite Stuart’s height, he seemed to have become quite small. The fact that Murdoc felt a twinge of satisfaction from having that sort of power made him sick. It was the same sort of feeling his father always had gotten when belittling or hitting him, and the man had been quite open about being amused by Murdoc's belittlement. _I’m nothing like that bastard,_ Murdoc told himself. _Not now, not ever._ Something inside prevented Murdoc from apologizing though. Perhaps it was pride, or perhaps it was simply that he didn’t know how. Regardless, he and Stuart walked in an uneasy silence.  
Stuart took three pills, and while he didn’t regain his previous metaphoric height, he seemed to be more relaxed now than he had when Murdoc snapped at him. If Murdoc was anyone else, he would’ve been concerned about how frequently Stuart took the medication. But Murdoc was Murdoc, and that meant he didn’t care.  
“I got some money in a bank, I fink,” Stuart said, who knows how long afterwards. He sounded high, mostly because he was. Too many pain killers will do that to a man. “I did before I got all,” he motioned loosely to his face, “like this an’ stuff.”  
“Do you remember what you need to get into the account?” Murdoc already was forming a plan. If they could get enough money, he could buy a used car and the two would be set. Sure enough, Stuart nodded rather confidently, and despite the fact that he was pretty high up there on acetaminophen, Murdoc took the confidence in stride. “Great, what bank branch do you use?” Stuart’s pause was a long one, and Murdoc’s stomach dropped with every moment longer.  
“It should be on my card. Do you know what ‘appened to my wallet?” Stuart was confused when Murdoc groaned loudly.  
“Your parents probably took it when you were in the hospital.” He now understood why Murdoc had groaned.  
“What if I go back home an’ get it?” Stuart offered. “I could just run in, get my stuff, and head out.”  
“And say what, that you're running off with me to start a band? News flash, Pot, your parents would jump at the chance to put a bullet between my eyes after what I did to you.”  
“You saved my life. I don't even know your name, but you saved my life.”  
“That's not how anyone else sees it.”  
“I would've been in a coma for who knows how long if you ‘adn’t come along an’ woke me up!”  
“I'm the one who put you in a coma in the first place, you stupid fuck!” Murdoc was seething, angry at himself for wrecking Stuart and angry at Stuart for seeing him in such a high way. Stuart shrunk away again, but Murdoc continued, not noticing Stuart’s reaction. “I didn’t save your pathetic life, I damn near ended it. But you’re too bloody handicapped to realize that, you fucking dullard!” Murdoc was breathing heavy, his fists balled up and his gaze cast through his fringe. Stuart stopped walking, and took a step back.  
“I fink I’m going to catch a cab back home.” Murdoc could feel his heart drop. They hadn’t even had a full band, and once again a band of his was breaking up. “‘Anks for everyfing an’ stuff. It was real nice hangin’ out wif you, mister.” Stuart was walking away before Murdoc was able to process what he was saying.  
“Murdoc.” Stuart stopped walking again. He turned around and looked at Murdoc, confused. “You said you didn’t know my name,” Murdoc explained, “well, it’s Murdoc. Murdoc Niccals.” Stuart smiled, and nodded, taking the name to memory.  
“Murdoc Niccals,” he repeated, hoping he didn’t mispronounce it any. “Well, ‘anks for everyfing, Murdoc.” In all extensive purposes, the two now lived lives separate from the other. However, Stuart didn’t move to walk away, and Murdoc didn’t either. “You, um, you can come wif me if you’d like. It’s not like my parents get to dictate who me friends are or anyfing.” Whether Murdoc was more surprised at the offer, or at Stuart calling him a friend, he didn’t know. But Murdoc walked forward, and the two walked on together, and Stuart took this action as an agreement to his offer.  
It took some time to get to a payphone, but Stuart was able to call a cab.  
The ride to his parents’ house wasn’t terrible, it was just rather silent. Stuart was still nervous after Murdoc’s second outburst of the day, and Murdoc was still in fear of turning out just like his father. The three keyboards and the bass were in the trunk of the cab, along with the makeshift backpack made of motel room bedsheets and filled with motel room pillows, but Stuart still had his pill bottles in his pockets. He took one out, and took two pills dry. He didn’t have a headache right then, but he was anxious about accidentally pissing Murdoc off again. The high calmed his nerves, and so he took the pills. Either Murdoc didn’t notice, too caught up in his own thoughts, or he just didn’t care. It’s not like he could judge, seeing as he was only clean himself because he was flat broke after spending most of his time this past year working off his community service sentence or looking after comatose-Stuart.  
Stuart was about to pay the cab fare when Murdoc handed him a few crumpled up bills.  
“I know it ain’t much but it’s what’s left after the motel room.” Murdoc got out of the cab before Stuart could say anything, so Stuart just paid the driver in silence. Murdoc got most of the equipment out of the trunk, and Stuart grabbed the last electric keyboard and the bedsheet backpack before the cab drove off. He gave Murdoc a smile, a silent thank you for covering most of the cab fare, but if Murdoc had noticed he didn’t acknowledge. Or, perhaps he had acknowledged Stuart’s kind gesture with a scowl. But Murdoc had been scowling most of the day, so it was difficult to tell and Stuart didn’t pay much mind to it.  
When Stuart’s mother opened the door, she was shocked. Almost horrified - which was understandable, since her house had been broken into a night before, right after Stuart’s disappearance - but for the most part relieved that her son was alright. More than alright even, relieved that her son had woken up. Before Stuart got out a word, his mother insisted the two come in. The two set their stuff against the front door after they were inside. It surprised Murdoc how Stuart's mother was acting, considering how open she was about detesting the man when Stuart had been catatonic.  
“So, you’re probably wondering how I’m ‘ere,” Stuart said, seeming almost nervous. When his mother nodded, he continued. “Well, from what I understand, we were out and about and I hit me head again, and ‘at woke me up.”  
“You were out with Murdoc?” Her voice was slow, pausing and choosing her words carefully. She could see holes in Stuart’s story, there was no doubt about that.  
“Yeah, see I was taking the lad to my apartment and we ran into a bit of trouble,” Murdoc spoke up, making the story up as he went. “I ended up dropping Tw- Stuart, and the impact of the pavement knocked his head back into working order. Or at least, that’s how I rationalized it.” Stuart’s mother nodded, but Murdoc figured she didn’t believe a word he was saying. That especially being because half of what he said was bullshit anyway.  
“Well, I’m glad you’re alright, Stu,” his mother said.  
“Mum I was wondering if maybe Murdoc an’ I could stay ‘ere a while until I find a new job and whatnot?”  
“Of course! I’ll set up the guest room.” Stuart’s mother looked directly at Murdoc, her face cold and stern. “I know it was you who broke the window, Niccals. Careful where you step, because my husband and I have no problem booting you out the door.”  
“Will do, Rachel.”  
“Mrs. Pot.”  
“Will do, Mrs. Pot,” Murdoc amended as Stuart’s mother walked away.  
“Why’d you never tell me your name until an hour ago?” Stuart asked, once his mother had left the room. Murdoc gave Stuart an odd look.  
“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Probably because I’ve known you for a year now, and you never asked.” Stuart frowned. He hadn’t known Murdoc for a year; he only knew him a couple of days. Then again, he supposed it would be a year for Murdoc. But, can you really know someone if they’re comatose when you first meet? Stuart didn’t know, and it was all making his head hurt. So, he took another acetaminophen pill.  
When he came home from work, Stuart’s father was less enthusiastic about Murdoc being a guest in the Pot household than the dear Rachel was. If it hadn’t been for Stuart’s pleading, black eyes, Murdoc would’ve been kicked out to the street almost immediately. Instead, a deal was made, and it ended in both Stuart and Murdoc having to look for jobs. In all actuality, the two had intended to hunt for employment that morning anyway. Well, Stuart had at least. Murdoc was still apprehensive over joining the working world, most likely because he had been fired from his last job after a bit of a fight. The last condition of the deal was that Murdoc had to keep his “unholy occult jewelry" off in the house. Stuart’s father’s exact words. So Murdoc stuffed his inverted cross necklace in his pocket, though he didn’t see anything wrong with displaying his belief system. After all, blokes on the street wore crosses all the time. He’s run into a few nuns at the grocery store a time or two before. Those were a few interesting moments in his life.  
Murdoc took a deep breath as he sat on the bed in the guest room. He was not looking forward to having a superior again. But still, he knew that Stuart and he would need all the money they could round up if they were to get a real studio. So much work, but it would be worth it in the end.  
After all, Murdoc firmly believed that despite the shortcomings since the deal, he’d get what he had bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I post stories once they're completely finished, just in case I lose motivation midway. I don't want to leave any readers stranded in an abandoned fic. However! I have so much to work with for this (thanks, Gorillaz c: ) and a lovely girlfriend who has yet to be opposed to listening to me talk f o r e v e r about everything revolving around this fic, I've decided instead of waiting for me to finish this whole thing I'm just going to set myself on a schedule and try my best to keep it. What does that actually mean? Well, it just means that expect a new chapter every Monday. Or around then. I'm pretty bad at keeping schedules, but I'll do my best.  
> In regards to this chapter, this one was fairly easy to write. Which was good, because that means I'm not losing momentum yet. This one was actually originally about 3k words, but I felt like that was a bit much so I decided to split it. So, chapter 3 already has a good 500 words on it :D


	3. Perhaps Things Aren't as Rocky as They Seem

Murdoc kicked off his shoes, and laid down on the bed. As he stared up at the ceiling, he tried to go through a mental checklist of what he still needed. An amp for his bass, a guitarist for the band, a drummer too, a studio, some decent songs to get onto the air, better looks, a six-string, an amp for that guitar too, a drumset, a couple of microphones, a singer, a car, and dinner. One of those things he could currently fix. Or, one of those things Stuart would end up providing the solution for.  
When Murdoc left the guest room and went downstairs to the kitchen, Stuart was already in there rummaging through the refrigerator.  
“Hey, 2-D.” Stuart looked up in response to his nickname. He smiled when he saw Murdoc looking calm. Calm in comparison to earlier that night. “Is the kitchen open season?” Stuart nodded as he pulled out a plate of what looked to be leftover lasagna.  
“Yeah, ‘elp yourself. Just, don’t drink the alcohol. It’s me mum’s, an’ she’ll get mad if anyone takes any.” Murdoc watched as Stuart transferred a few squares of lasagna into a bowl and put the bowl in the microwave. He didn’t see how long Stuart had put it in for though.  
“Can you cook any?”  
“No, I have a microwave,” Stuart replied. He was slightly confused. Did Murdoc not know what a microwave was?  
Regardless of his confusion, when the microwave beeped, Stuart grabbed a fork and took out his plate. He offered some to Murdoc, and Murdoc took a bite before heating up another bowl’s worth for himself. As he did that, Stuart put the plate back into the refrigerator. It tasted decent enough to a man who hadn't eaten in a few days.  
“So, d-” Stuart shushed Murdoc. Murdoc frowned, glaring at the blue-haired man. Stuart pointed to his parents’ room, and Murdoc understood. Right, wouldn’t want to wake the parents. “So, do you play anything besides piano?” Murdoc asked much quieter, his voice barely above a whisper as the two made their way back to the stairs. Stuart nodded, mouth full of lasagna.  
“I can play guitar. I can sing too, but really everyone can sing, I fink,” Stuart replied after the two had scaled the staircase. “Wanna hang in my room a bit?” The only response Murdoc gave was to not head to the guest room after Stuart gave his offer.  
Stuart's room wasn't huge, and it definitely didn't feel huge now that there was an extra person in the room. The room window was broken behind wooden boards, the damage due to Murdoc’s “wit”. If wit is what you could call it. Stuart must’ve lugged all of their instruments upstairs into his room while Murdoc was scrutinizing the guest room, because Stuart’s electric keyboards were back in their places and were accompanied by Murdoc’s bass. Murdoc wondered how Stuart was able to carry the bass, but figured he must've just not touched it directly and decided not to question. He didn't want to have to answer or explain anything right now. The sheet backpack was in the corner, having no use for the moment. Murdoc made a mental note to wash the sheets and pillows sometime before using them.  
“Where’s your guitar?” Murdoc asked, noticing that the only guitar in sight was his bass.  
“Oh, I don’t actually own one.”  
“How can you play guitar without owning a guitar?” Stuart looked down in an almost sheepish manner.  
“I’d play the ones at the music store during me break, back when I worked there an’ all.” It was the first time Murdoc felt the closest thing to guilt over the whole endeavour. He had pulled this man away from making music. As Murdoc was stuck in his thoughts, Stuart shrugged and continued. “No matter though, I’m in a real band wif you now.” When Murdoc didn’t reply, Stuart grew nervous. He sat on his bed, legs crossed, haunched over a bit, and started to stare off into nothingness. If Murdoc hadn’t pulled Stuart out of his little world, his lasagna would’ve met a cold fate.  
“What about your singing?” Stuart looked up at the sound of Murdoc’s voice, though it took him a moment to process the words.  
“It’s decent enough, I guess.” Stuart gave Murdoc a quizzical look. “You can sit down, you know. There’s some room on the floor an’ up here on the bed. Sorry about not ‘aving any chairs.”  
“Remind me in the morning or whenever to have you sing for me,” Murdoc replied as he took Stuart’s offer and sat across from him on the bed. The two sat in silence for quite some time, just eating leftover lasagna in each other’s company. When he ran out of food, Stuart pulled out one of the medication bottles that were still in his pocket. He took two dry, put the bottle on the nightstand, and laid back against his pillows. Watching Stuart slowly get high on pain medication reminded Murdoc of when he had access to speed. It was in that moment that he realized just how much he missed the feeling of being on amphetamines. The high, the energy, the confidence. The nights of banging. He definitely missed the last one the most.  
_What I wouldn’t give to have a woman to sleep with right now,_ Murdoc thought as Stuart sat up.  
“Hey Murdoc, you like Agustus Pablo?”  
“Who?”  
“Nevermind. What about the Clash?” Murdoc seemed to visibly light up. “I got a few albums if you wanna listen.”  
“A kid like you has vinyl?”  
“What? No, I’ve got CD.” Murdoc should’ve figured that. After all, vinyl was dying fast. Or, so people said. As far as he knew, disk jockeys still used vinyl singles.  
Murdoc nodded, and Stuart got up to put the CD in the player. He shut his bedroom door as the sweet sound of White Riot filled the room, and returned to his place on the bed. “I’m not a kid, by the way.”  
“Hm?” Murdoc had only been half listening.  
“I was born in ‘78. I’m nineteen. Not a kid.”  
“You’re twenty. You were comatose a year.” Stuart did the math in his head to check. Oh, Murdoc was right.  
“Still not a kid.”  
“Whatever you say.” Murdoc decided to add in, “kid.” Stuart glared. He would’ve stolen the rest of Murdoc’s lasagna, had there been any left.  
“How old are you ‘en, smartarse?”  
“Thirty-two.” Stuart snorted rather loudly, resulting in Murdoc wearing a similar glare.  
“Wow, you’re old. You’re an old man.”  
“Oh, shut up.” Murdoc couldn’t keep a straight face, and neither could Stuart actually. “Youngin’,” Murdoc added before laughing.  
“Oh my God, you even sound like an old man.” Stuart was doubled over with laughter. It was most likely funnier because of his high, but nevertheless the two found amusement in poking fun at each other’s age.  
“Sweet Satan, 2-D, don’t die over there or anything.” Murdoc hadn’t laughed like that, without someone else’s misfortune being the punchline, in quite some time.  
After a moment or several, Stuart cut quiet almost instantly. He looked at Murdoc, empty eyes digging into the man’s soul. Just as Murdoc was about to tell Stuart to quit it, Stuart leaned forward and put his hand into Murdoc’s pocket.  
“Woah now, normally I’d be all for someone so pretty wanting into my pants, bu-” Stuart shushed Murdoc as he pulled out Murdoc’s gold necklace. He unclipped the chain and put it around Murdoc’s neck, clipping it into place.  
“You don’t look right wifout your cross. You looked boring,” Stuart told him when Murdoc gave the man a confused look. “Wear it under your shirt when me dad’s around, or somefink. But you’re firty-whatever, an’ letting some old bloke tell you how to dress, an’ I don’t know you much but ‘at don’t sound like someone who’d drive frough a music store for a couple of fings to me.” Murdoc was surprised at how forward Stuart was being. The man had always come off as a submissive sort of guy. Murdoc wanted to express his surprise, but it didn’t manifest in the way he wanted.  
“Oh, shut up,” Murdoc growled. “And don’t tell me what to do or what to wear.” He didn’t know why he was suddenly so angry, but he was, and he got off of Stuart’s bed. Stuart shrunk away, submissive demeanor returned. Murdoc felt that twinge of pride knowing that he could so easily overpower Stuart, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He wanted to run away. Or at least get away from Stuart. He felt like he was going to be sick. “Goodnight,” Murdoc muttered, voice quick and with less venom that previously. He left Stuart’s room before the man could say or do anything else.  
Murdoc entered the guest room and locked the door. He slid to the floor, hand in his hair and mind a flurry. He was angry at himself again. Stuart was being kind, and he knew Stuart was being kind, but instead he snapped at the man again. _What the hell is wrong with me? Normally I only get pissed at those who deserve it._ Murdoc knew Stuart didn’t deserve it. And yet, he received it more frequently than Murdoc was used to, and they hadn't actually talked to each other for very long. He remembered in that moment why he stopped dating and just went with one-night stands. Murdoc fell asleep against that door, even though the bed wasn’t even thirty feet away, feeling like trash and missing the drugs and the alcohols that used to be his closest friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a chapter a day early! I'm going to be pretty busy tomorrow, so if I don't upload this now I'll probably forget to. So here's an early Chapter 3 instead of a late one! Also, sorry this isn't as long as my other chapters. This was once part of Chapter 2, but I decided to split it because Chapter 2 was getting long. Now Chapter 3 is a bit shorter. Oh well, I suppose. At least it isn't a filler chapter (:  
> Thank you everyone who had read, left kudos, and/or commented. You all make my day <3


	4. Some Rocks Have Smooth Edges

When Stuart woke up, around noon, he ended up finding that Murdoc had left. He would’ve been lying to himself if he pretended he wasn’t a bit disappointed. Actually, no one was home at the moment, and no one would be home until seven that night when his mother got home.  
In all reality, Murdoc hadn’t abandoned Stuart. About three hours prior, Murdoc had gotten up to shower and begin his search for employment. Unable to find the right product for his hair, he did his best to work with what he had, and mentally kicked himself for not retrieving the rest of his stuff from his car after the crash. He decided his four-day old shirt was decent enough, and opted not to “borrow” ei steal some of Stuart’s clothes. There was the fact that Stuart had a good three or four inches on Murdoc that also influenced his decision. He was about to take off his necklace for the day when he remembered what Stuart had said that night. He decided to keep the necklace around his neck, hidden underneath his shirt. The gold metal chilled his bare skin, but there was a comfort in knowing it was there.  
Once Murdoc felt like he looked presentable enough, he headed out. By the time Stuart was up, Murdoc had already visited three places in hopes of receiving a job application. In the hopes of being able to “misplace” ei steal different prescription drugs to sell in his spare time, Murdoc tried to bullshit his way into a job at the local pharmacy. He was stopped at the credentials requirements. As he found out, a degree in anti-social anthropology was not “close enough” to a degree from a pharmaceutical college.  
Just for shits and giggles, the next place of employment Murdoc decided to try was Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium. He didn't get three feet into the store that he had previously tried to ram raid before the manager chased him out with a broom. It had been over a year since the incident, and Murdoc had thought for a moment that perhaps the music store had been put under new management. Evidently, his thoughts were wrong.  
In one last stretch of desperation, Murdoc tried to apply for the post. There were a few vacancies left, so he figured what was the worst that could happen. He used the landline number for Stuart’s parents’ house as a contact number after meeting with one of the recruitment managers. “Meeting with” was a bit of a loose term. The two talked for a few minutes, and then Murdoc pulled all the cards in charming the manager. For the sake of professionalism, Murdoc was told that his resume would be reviewed and he would be contacted within the next few days.  
Murdoc began the walk home, and it was a long one. He felt like he had a decent chance, not at the job so much as with the manager. The woman had seemed rather interested, and even made what Murdoc thought might’ve been a flirt or two in return.  
Murdoc got back to Stuart’s parents’ house around three in the afternoon. He knocked on the door, having never had recieved a house key. Stuart opened the door, and stared at the man on the front step.  
“You came back.”  
“What the hell are you talking about? I went to go get a job, dullard.” Stuart looked down. He felt foolish. He had spent the past few hours moping over his friend who he thought walked out on him. “You should try to go back to that music store you worked at last year. It had a help wanted sign in the window when I went by.” Stuart looked up at Murdoc. Well, he looked forward, really. Murdoc was a good couple of inches shorter than him. Stuart nodded, because what could go wrong.  
“I found me wallet too,” Stuart told Murdoc, patting his pocket. “Was in me room, should’ve had you grab it a few nights ago.”  
“How much money you got on the card?” Stuart shrugged. He didn’t know. He could only remember the pin for it. He’d have to check at an ATM, but at least now Stuart could access the money he previously had gotten from working.  
“We should test out the card to make sure it still works. Want to go out for lunch? I haven't really eaten much.” The mention of food made Murdoc's stomach growl. Lunch in the late afternoon was the plan.  
The restaurant, if you could call a fast food grease trap of a building that, was only about a forty minute walk from the house. Inside it smelled of fries and cheap burgers, and the prices supported the smell. Inexpensive food in an inexpensive atmosphere.  
Stuart was able to use his card no problem, and in about ten minutes the two had a tray of fries and hamburgers. As Murdoc dug in, Stuart took a couple more pills. This action, though he's done it many times before, attracted the attention of a shaky looking man who had been sitting a few tables away in the corner.  
“Hey,” his voice was hushed, and he looked afraid. “What are you taking? A-Are you selling any?”  
“Oh, well I-”  
“Don't answer that,” Murdoc interrupted. He glared at the man, voice a growl as he addressed him. “What's it to you if he is or isn't?”  
“Please, man, I'll pay whatever you want.” He had a junkie’s eyes. Murdoc knew that look well. It was a look of desperatism that couldn't be faked. A hollowness, displaying the shell of a life of a man who lived only for his next hit. Murdoc thought to himself how long this man must've had to have gone without to be this desperate. Neither he nor Stuart looked like dealers, as mangy as Murdoc knew he himself appeared.  
“How much you got?”  
“Murdoc, you're not serious, are you?” Stuart gasped. “You can't just sell my medication. I need it.”  
“I need it too,” the man pleased, nearly ready to get onto his knees and beg. “Please, I'll give you fifty, one hundred, anything!”  
“Two hundred pounds, cash.” Murdoc was amused by the man's desperate attempts. If it had been another time, when he was less in need of money, he might've been concerned about how much fun it was dragging this man along.  
“Alright, alright, just give me the pills, please,” the man stumbled over his words as he fished bills from his pockets. Murdoc counted the money, and nodded to Stuart. Reluctantly, Stuart gave the man the bottle. The man didn't know that there were only ten or so pills left inside. That, or he didn't care, relieved to finally get another fix of any sort of high. The man left Murdoc and Stuart in peace, leaving the restaurant with his drugs.  
“Murdoc, what the hell?” This was the most furious Murdoc had ever seen the man. Though, that isn't a good description of how Stuart looked in that moment. He really didn't look angry, more neutral if anything. Getting high will do that to a person.  
“We need money, 2-D,” Murdoc replied as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Your endless supply of headache medication is money.”  
“What ‘appens if we get caught?”  
“I'll take the bullet for us both. I've been to jail tons of times, this won't be any different. We'll just say, I dunno, I stole ‘em from you.” Stuart didn't like this plan. He didn't like the thought of Murdoc in prison.  
“Fine, whatever.” Stuart decided it would be best to just go with Murdoc's plan for now and not risk pissing off the man. “What about this band of yours? Am I ever going to get to meet the other members?”  
“You are the other member,” Murdoc snorted. “At this current time, the band consists of you and me.”  
“So what's the plan?”  
“First, we'll need to get a car. And then, maybe a studio.” Murdoc spilled out a convoluted plan to buy a car, and just drive until they found a studio.  
When they were almost out of food, Stuart spoke up again.  
“Before you lost your job, did you have an apartment?”  
“No, I lived in a Winnebago.”  
“What happened to it?”  
“Got evicted from the trailer park. I didn't have anywhere else to put it, so I gathered up my stuff and walked away. It's probably impounded by now.” Stuart thought for a moment. Actually, it was a good couple of minutes.  
“I probably have enough money to get it outta the impound.” Murdoc looked at Stuart as though the man had given him his first glass of water in months.  
“Would you really?” When Stuart nodded, Murdoc felt as though he could kiss the man. He had hated having to leave his Winnie behind. “How soon could we get it?” Stuart took another couple of minutes to think.  
“We’d need to know where it’s impou-”  
“That’s easy, it’s in the impound lot in Brighton. BHCC, or something like that.” Stuart nodded as if what would be about a seven and a half hour walk was the most normal thing in the world. “So, we’ll want to take the train. And, um, hope that it hasn’t been auctioned off yet.”  
“I’ll check on train times,” Stuart replied with a smile. The rest of lunch went well, and Stuart became more relaxed as time went by. It didn’t seem as though Murdoc would suddenly burst into anger anytime soon, and that put the blue-haired man at ease. By the time the two started to head home, Stuart decided that they would have to do something like that again.  
Stuart and Murdoc got back to the house with about an hour left until anyone else would be getting home. Stuart decided to call Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium, and was able to be rehired by the end of the phone call. The manager had actually spent most of the phone call apologizing for Stuart being injured during the robbery, most likely hoping that Stuart wouldn’t decide to sue the store. Stuart went to the guest room to tell Murdoc the news.  
When Stuart knocked on the door, there was no reply. He opened the door to find Murdoc out cold on the bed, his inverted cross necklace hanging off his neck. Stuart put the necklace under Murdoc’s shirt, just in case. Instead of waking the man to tell him that Stuart got a job, Stuart left the guest room and shut the door behind him. Stuart decided to head upstairs, and for the first time in a year he played music on one of his keyboards.  
After a good while, Stuart looked over at Murdoc’s bass. It was the only thing that Murdoc decided to take from the car wreck. It must’ve been one hell of an important bass. Stuart went over to pick it up, but upon touching the guitar, Stuart felt as if his hand was being burned. Stuart bit his lip to keep from crying out, but he dropped the guitar immediately. He looked over his hand to find a small, shallow burn printed onto his hand in the shape of the guitar’s neck.  
“What the ‘ell?” Stuart looked at the bass closely, careful not to touch it again. It looked like a normal bass guitar; four strings, one neck, one body. A jack for the amp cord. Some knobs to adjust sound and tone. But it had burned him. The evidence was on his hand. Speaking of which, Stuart needed to bandage the open wound.  
He went to the bathroom and rinsed off his hand using cold water to sooth the burn, drying it carefully and putting burn cream on the wound. He then wrapped it, just like he had seen his mother do many times before. Perks of having a nurse mother.  
Stuart’s mother came home not long after Murdoc’s guitar burned Stuart. She walked into a quiet house, and could’ve forgotten anyone else was there if Stuart hadn’t returned to his keyboard after wrapping his hand. But, she didn’t mind. It was nice to hear Stuart playing again, even if she didn’t much understand the music he was playing. Above all, Rachel Pot was just glad to have her son back to his old self again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say this time, other than thank you to all who have read this! The comments mean the world, the kudos keep me going, and you all are wonderful to grace my wee fic with your lovely eyes.


	5. Rocks on Wheels Come with Rocks with Knives

Stuart had already been working a few weeks by the time Murdoc got a call back from Royal Mail. In the time between applying and now, while Stuart was at work Murdoc did one of two things. If he had the house to himself, he made attempts to record the different bass riffs he had written himself, muttered curses to Satan for not letting him take the easy road to success, and watched tv. If Murdoc did not have the house to himself, he simply did not make an appearance at the home. Instead, he frequented alleys - and especially night clubs, when Stuart was stuck working graveyard shift - selling Stuart’s weaker pain medication to strung out addicts desperate for anything.  
It was on one of those nights that Murdoc was offered a trade he couldn’t refuse. Sixty milligrams of amphetamine for the rest of the bottle of acetaminophen. Murdoc took the offer in a heartbeat, not having been caressed by his speed vice in nearly a year. Of course, Murdoc being Murdoc, he managed to empty most of the bottle into his pocket before he handed over the medication. He left once he had his drugs, not wanting to be near the man when he found out he had been cheated. Murdoc hid the sixty milligrams-worth under the mattress of the guest room when he got back that night. Stuart let him in when he got off of work, like he always did when he worked late.  
Murdoc stopped selling Stuart’s migraine medication after the post hired him. He was even able to use one of the vans for free during work hours, and worked Monday to Saturday. After all, there’s no post on Sundays.  
It was because of this that near the end of the month, after Stuart had received his paycheck, he and Murdoc took a train down to Brighton. It was a relatively boring half an hour train ride on an overcast day threatening to rain. Naturally, it wasn’t until the two had left the train and started walking in search of the impound lot that the rain began to come down.  
“Hey Murdoc, what’re the odds of it still being at the impound lot?” Stuart asked as the rain worsened. Murdoc shrugged. He didn’t know. He always abandoned his cars after he couldn’t pay for them anymore. Abandoned them or sold them, but never return for them.  
“Hopefully high, since I still have the key to it,” he replied. He had kept that key taped to his amp since he left the Winnebago, just incase. It was a pain, lugging that amp around for so long. Murdoc still mentally kicked himself for not grabbing it when he pulled the key off after the crash. It would’ve been easier just to take the whole amplifier. It’s wasn’t terribly big. Well, it was decently sized. After a second thought, Murdoc was fine with it being left behind. He didn’t want to have to carry it again.  
The walk was nearly forty-five minutes along, and dreadful from the rain. Both men were soaking wet by the time they reached the impound. Stuart took two pills before walking in, neither men noticing which impound lot they were at.  
Murdoc kept quiet most of the time they were there, which left Stuart a bit unnerved. It wasn’t that Murdoc was normally talkative, because he wasn’t, it was just that this silence was an uneasy silence. It made him anxious, and he wanted to leave as soon as possible.  
It was nearly another hour before they were able to talk to one of the desk workers. Murdoc answered various questions, most of his responses being “it’s in the glove-box”. The desk worker send an assistance out to the yard to check the glove box.  
“Alright, Mister Niccals, here’s what’s going to happen,” the desk worker said while the assistant seemed to be taking his sweet time. “No one would take your trash of a vehicle, so it’s been sitting in that lot for some time now. We’re charging you £3,119.52 if you’ve got the paperwork in the glovebox like you said you did, and you’re going to get your junk piece of an RV out of this lot.” Murdoc was furious. That price was outrageous. With that, he didn’t have the right to ask Stuart to pay that much. But, sure enough, when the assistant returned with the insurance proofs and registration papers, Stuart just swiped his card. Murdoc didn’t even get the chance to reconsider. Stuart just bought his car out of the pound without complaint. He didn’t know how he felt. Actually, he felt almost nauseated. He felt like he now owed Stuart a huge favor.  
Murdoc had his Winnebago back.  
The drive home wasn’t terrible. Stuart noticed that Murdoc was much more careful driving this vehicle than he was in the other cars he had driven. Granted, Stuart had only been conscious for one car ride. Well, after one car ride, that is. Nevertheless, the drive took a little over half an hour back to Crawley. Back to Stuart’s parents’ house.  
Murdoc moved his guitar and his speed into the motorhome before Stuart’s parents came home. Once home, he made an agreement with David Pot to stay in the motorhome and not “disturb the family” if he could keep it parked in the driveway. Stuart thought about bringing up the burn Murdoc’s guitar gave him, but decided not to risk angering Murdoc by admitting he touched his bass. The man was oddly possessive of that guitar, despite how ordinary it looked. Stuart didn’t think too hard on it, figuring the guitar was probably a gift or had sentimental value or something along those lines.  
A few days after this, Stuart came home in a rather chipper mood. He knocked on the door of Murdoc’s Winnebago, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. Murdoc opened the door for the excited Stuart Pot, and moved so the man could step inside.  
“What’s up?” Murdoc had barely gotten the words out before Stuart spoke.  
“Murdoc, I’ve met ‘is wonderful woman at work today.” Murdoc grinned. So that’s why Stuart was so excited. “She’s got real nice, black hair and she’s a joy to talk to, and we got a date tomorrow after I get off work.” Murdoc found it all rather amusing. Stuart was acting as if he had found true love. “She even plays guitar too. Hey! Do you fink she could ‘elp with the band? I know we bof can play guitar and all but maybe she could do somefink too, yeah?”  
“Woah, 2-D, slow down there,” Murdoc said with a laugh. “You make sure you have something to wear for your date. I’ll take care of the band stuff for now.” Stuart nodded, and stood there a bit awkwardly. Murdoc ended up breaking the silence. “So, is she hot?”  
“She's pretty enough, yeah. I just like spending time wif her,” Stuart replied. He thought for a moment. “It's been over a year since me last date. I fink I'm nervous.” Murdoc perked up with a grin.  
“Well now, I know how to solve that. Let's go out for drinks!”  
Stuart, as Murdoc was soon to find out, was meant to remain in the world of drugs. The world of alcohol did not suit him well.  
They had walked down to a nearby convenience store, and Murdoc bought a bottle of Captain Morgan. The two sat in the parking lot and shared sips of the bottle. Naturally, Murdoc moreso guzzled the rum each time where Stuart just took normal sized drinks. It wasn’t a real “out for drinks” time, but it was what it was.  
“So, this girl,” Murdoc said after about half the bottle was gone.  
“She’s perfect, Murdoc,” Stuart said with a sigh. Murdoc noticed how lovestruck he looked now that he was intoxicated. He looked forward as Stuart continued to keep eye contact with him. His empty eyes were starting to give Murdoc the creeps, even if Stuart was talking about something as normal and harmless as a new woman he fancied. “Her hair is like the night and her makeup is always perfect and she can play guitar so well. When I told her about the band, she fought it was the coolest fing. Oh Murdoc, I fink I love her.”  
“Woah, slow down there, tiger. You only met her this afternoon,” Murdoc laughed. The more Stuart drank, the more of a hopeless sap he seemed to become.  
“You don’t understand, Murdoc. ‘Aven’t you ever been in love before?” Stuart’s gaze became heavier. It was getting to be too much for Murdoc to bear. “‘Aven’t you ever wanted to give someone anyfing they’ve ever asked for an’ make ‘em ‘appy?” Of course he had. And it ended badly, just like all of his other previous relationships. But Murdoc didn’t say that. Instead, he just shrugged, and took another overly long sip from the emptying bottle of rum. Stuart continued on gushing over how amazing this new girl of his was, but Murdoc for the most part tuned him out at this point. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but listening to Stuart go on and on about this nameless woman was starting to give Murdoc a headache. And a bit of a stomachache. He brushed it off as just the alcohol. Though, Captain Morgan usually didn’t betray him like this. Before they left, Murdoc went back in and bought a bottle of whiskey. He wanted something harsh, though rum was his most frequent mistress.  
The two walked, or moreso stumbled, back home. Stuart, being the least incapacitated of the two, had to help Murdoc walk on multiple occasions. It was all to Murdoc’s displeasure.  
Stuart went to bed in his room, and Murdoc slept in the Winnebago as per the agreement. Well, eventually he passed out, if that could be considered sleep. Before unconsciousness graced him, however, Murdoc smashed the empty rum bottle against the wall. The sound of shattering glass had been louder that he first anticipated, but at this point he didn’t particularly care. He sat on his bed and drank his whiskey and tried not to think of everything that had happened last night. But of course, he did think of it. It was all he could think about.  
“Isn’t that just grand that the fucking dimwit catches a pretty bird before I do.” Murdoc took a sip. “I’ve got more charm than ‘e does! I got more style and more talent and more everythin’.” Murdoc took a sip. “It would be jus’ grand if that bird turned out to be some cheating skank.” Murdoc took a sip, and then he laughed. “Ah yes, just rightly grand. Poor little 2-D, dating a whore.” Murdoc took a sip, but he didn’t speak for a moment. “I think I’d kill her if she hurts him.” Murdoc was quiet for a moment longer before bursting into hysterics. “Knowing 2-D’s luck, she’ll find a better bloke an’ leave him in a week.” That was when Murdoc’s thoughts turned dark. “Knowing my luck, he’ll probably leave the band to settle down with her,” he muttered. “Knowing my luck, I’ll probably end up doing something stupid and ruining this band just like the other ones.” Murdoc took another sip as memories of the past froze his body. He sat there, for minutes or for hours, drowning in the memories of the past. Of his previous band. Of his first band. His father’s words. It all escalated. Being up on that stage. Fear. Panic. The shouts. The screams and the slurs. The humility. Embarrassment. And when he was nine. No one cared. No one ever cares. From day one, he was left. Abandoned. Unloved.  
Murdoc threw the bottle at the wall even though it wasn’t empty yet. Hot and angry tears pricked the backs of his eyes, threatening to fall. He felt weak. His father’s words echoed in his head and out his mouth.  
“What are you, a pussy? Real men don’t cry.”  
Murdoc kicked the wall. “Shut up!” His breath was sharp. Anger and alcohol was all that were in his veins. He wanted everything to go away. His father, his life, his school, himself, his drunkenness, Stuart, his pain, his exes, his one-night stand partners, alright maybe Stuart could stay but everything else he wanted gone. Except maybe his guitar as well. That could stay too.  
Murdoc passed out with tears down his cheeks, and his nails trying to dig into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this being out so late in the day, today has been crazy. So much to do, so little time. Seriously. 24 hours is not a lot of time. Damn.  
> Anywho, hope I didn't hurt anyone too badly with the ending of this chapter. I'd promise that it'll get better, but then I'd be a liar and I like to think that I'm a trustworthy sort of fellow.  
> Unedited, so if you find any mistakes please let me know. Also, just a general note, if it ever feels like I'm getting too ooc let me know and that will be amended.  
> Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, and/or leaves kudos! You are all so great, I hope the weather were you all are is better than the weather were I'm at haha


	6. Paper Isn't What Beats Rock

Stuart woke up hungover. He took four pills and went downstairs to get some water. His parents had already left for work. He must’ve had a bit of luck with him, since he didn’t have to be at work until noon. He questioned why he was so hung over in the first place, and then he remembered Murdoc mentioning going out for drinks. And then he remembered that he had a date tonight. Stuart panicked for a moment, forgetting the woman’s name. Patty? No. Samantha? No. Paula? That one sounded familiar. It was probably that one.  
Stuart made himself breakfast, and then noticed the Winnebago parked in the driveway. He decided to make extra for Murdoc. Stuart checked the time as he ate, and almost gagged. It was getting too close to noon, so Stuart ran to the bathroom and fixed himself up as best he could. He took two more pills and had his breakfast on the go.  
Murdoc woke up three hours later, feeling as if Death decided to ram him with a semi truck. He felt around trying to find a pair of sunglasses, seeing as the light coming in from the windows was worsening the hangover headache.  
Once he found a pair of sunglasses to hide behind, Murdoc went into the house to get some food. He silently thanked Satan that Stuart had left the door unlocked when he left for work, and gave a verbal “praise Satan” when he saw someone - presumably Stuart - had left a plate of waffles on the counter next to a bottle of pain medication.  
Murdoc sat down in the living room with his waffles after taking a couple of painkillers. He had them stacked high with whipped cream, strawberries, and blueberries. It was sickeningly sweet, but it was a delight all the same. The news was rubbish, so Murdoc didn't end up having the television on for very long.  
For a moment, Murdoc wondered why today was the day someone left him breakfast. Usually he had to rummage up his own food, or go down to the convenience store and buy breakfast burritos. It was then that he remembered that Stuart had a date tonight. Murdoc scowled, but he didn't quite know why. It was probably because Stuart had a date and he didn't even have a fuckmate for the night.  
Murdoc didn’t have time to pout though, since he had the evening route for work today and it was nearing the early evening.  
Work was a drag, he was in a terrible mood, and Murdoc wasn’t even drowning himself in liquor in the Winnebago. He was at the town library, thanking Satan the place stayed open late during the week. One could say he was on a date of sorts. A date with Craigslist. There wasn’t much on the site, but it was big enough in its young life that Murdoc could utilize it while it was still up and running.  
Murdoc stayed until one of the librarians kicked him out. He considered for a moment turning up the charm and shooting for taking her home, but the thought only crossed his mind after he was walking down the street. No, he had gotten what he needed already. Just a little bit longer and with Stuart’s help, he’d have enough money to further this band-to-be. Well, Stuart’s help, and they’d need to drive to Essex. But, that wasn’t terribly far. Only an hour, maybe a bit more. Though they would still need a drummer. And not any old person could do. It had to be someone just as unique as Stuart. Murdoc would have to continue his internet research in the morning.  
Murdoc was woken up by frantic knocking on the Winnebago door. Stuart was on the other side, looking anxious. The man was greeted by an unamused and unhappy Murdoc.  
“What the fuck do you want so damn early in the morning? It ain’t even light out yet!” Stuart hissed out a “shush” to Murdoc as he stepped forward, effectively forcing his way into the motorhome.  
“I need you to ‘elp me ‘ide some marks Paula made last night. I got morning shift today an’ I’m outta turtlenecks.” For a reason Murdoc ignored, hearing that made him furious. He was about to hit Stuart when he caught the impulse, and a wave of shame crashed into him. _Just like your father, just like your father, just like your father, just like-_  
“Fine. Commere.” Murdoc pulled Stuart over to where the majority of the lights were located. He switched them all on and took a look at Stuart’s neck. Except for it was more than just Stuart’s neck, and he must’ve forgotten his shirt back at Paula’s. Murdoc didn’t know how he wasn’t cold, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. There were dark purple hickeys dotted around Stuart’s chest and neck. His chest was also adorned with scratches, welts, and some bloody lines from manicured nails as well. His back suffered a similar clawed fate. “Wait here,” Murdoc told Stuart just before he went into the bathroom. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t want to know.  
Murdoc rummaged through the cupboard as Stuart waited patiently. Murdoc returned with a small tube of antibacterial ointment and a washcloth that was damp on one half. He cleaned the nail marks that Paula had left, and then smeared some of the ointment over them. Stuart hissed, half at the pain on contact and half at the cold. “Don’t complain, fucking dullard, go get a beer from the fridge and put the bottle to the worst of the ones on your neck.” Stuart got up and did so, looking rather awkward standing in the room with a bottle of beer held against purple hickeys.  
“Hey Murdoc, can I sit on your bed?”  
“I don’t care,” Murdoc replied as he went through his drawers. He was glad that no one from the pound had searched through any of his stuff very well. He pulled out one of his black turtlenecks and threw it at Stuart. “Here, you can wear this for today. Those hickeys aren’t going away anytime soon.” Stuart smiled a thank you to Murdoc as he sat on his bed. Well, Stuart actually ended up laying down, as the bed was a bit too high for him to sit without hitting his head on the ceiling. Murdoc sat on the bed beside Stuart. When Stuart looked over at him, slightly confused, Murdoc spoke. “I went and did some looking today. Well, late last night. I think I’ve found a studio for us to use. It’s been on the market for a while, and it doesn’t look like anyone is interested. After I get my paycheck Friday, I think I’ll call the guy who put up the offer and see if he’ll go any lower on the price. If he drops it enough, we could probably buy the whole building instead of just a room to record in.” Stuart listened intently, his mind sharpening as his painkillers were wearing off without the threat of a migraine appearing. “Figured I should tell you while you’re still sober and all, since you’ll be paying for half of it,” Murdoc continued. He didn’t admit that it wasn’t so much Stuart having to pay for half of it, but was actually Murdoc needing Stuart’s help again.  
“‘Course I will. I’m one half of the band right now,” Stuart replied. He was smiling, and Murdoc hoped that meant that he agreed with the plan.  
“It’s in Essex, about an hour out from here and an hour out from London. It’s supposed to be haunted, or something like that, so I can probably use that as leverage against the seller.” Stuart nodded, paying more attention to what Murdoc was saying now than he had anyone else the whole week. It probably helped a lot that Stuart hadn’t taken any pills since his work break, nearly seven hours ago.  
“Are the ghosts the reason no one else is buying it?”  
“Probably,” Murdoc replied with a shrug. “Doesn’t really matter though. If we can afford to live there, then we’ll live there. Ah but we still need a drummer.”  
“Oh, I might know of a guy. Some blokes from work were talking about this guy from America, works in Soho now. Said he’s possessed, or somefing like ‘at. Said he can rap a bit. Rappers need beats, don’t they? Maybe he can drum too.”  
“Perfect, I’ll look into it after a call the studio owner this afternoon.” Murdoc had seemed to have brightened up from when Stuart first walked into the Winnebago.  
“Is a drummer all we need?”  
“And a guitarist, preferably. And a studio. A car. Instruments. Money. But, don’t worry about it, 2-D. You just sit and be our pretty frontman.”  
“Aren’t I just your frontman? Since it’s just you and me righ’ now?” Murdoc laughed at that. He hadn’t really thought of it that way.  
“Yeah, yeah I suppose you are my frontman.” Stuart couldn't help but smile. He supposed that meant that Murdoc cared about him. After all, Murdoc seemed to care a lot about the things that were solely his. His Winnebago, his guitar. Actually, all he seemed to own was his Winnie and his bass. Well, and his necklace. Stuart didn't know if he cared about his necklace that much. It was still an important part of Murdoc's character in Stuart's mind. The two sat in a comfortable silence after that revelation, and they stayed like that until Stuart fell asleep. Murdoc nudged him about half an hour before his shift started.  
“Oi dullard, get up. You’re gonna be late,” he said as Stuart woke up grudgingly. Stuart got dressed, and immediately noticed how soft Murdoc’s turtleneck felt. For a moment he considered keeping it, but didn’t want to risk angering Murdoc by stealing his clothes. He left for work, and Murdoc left for work shortly after. Stuart took inventory, sold some new strings to a girl with orange hair, and listened to Paula play guitar when she stopped by during her lunch break. Murdoc delivered mail, befriended a stray cat, and graffitied the mailbox of couple with a brat of a child who tried to spray Murdoc with a garden hose last week. He had waited a whole week to have the house on his route when no one was home.  
After work, Murdoc went down to the library he had been at the other night. It was early in the evening, not nearly as late as it had been the first time. He took a computer near the back, and checked the listing for the studio in Essex. It was still listed, though he wasn’t surprised. He wrote down the number and then searched for the possessed rapper Stuart had been talking about. It was then that he found newspaper articles from America talking about a tragic shootout in a gang hood. Only one survivor outside of the drive-by car: Russel Hobbs. Murdoc wrote that name down below the number for the studio’s seller. He searched the name on Six Degrees and low and behold, the man had an account. Judging by his profile picture, he was a decent looking man, who according to his description worked at Big Rick Black’s Record Shack. Murdoc grinned, since from the sounds of it he had found another music lover. Murdoc looked up directions to the store, wrote them down quickly, and logged out of the computer. He took his paper home, and made plans to recruit this Russel Hobbs into the band. One way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Monday and that means update day! Had a rough weekend but I had this done before then so my muse can recover at its own pace. I'm hoping this doesn't affect the posting schedule, but who knows really.  
> In lighter news, looks like the band is slowly getting together! Emphasis on slowly.  
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, kudosed, and read! You all are the reason I post my writings.


	7. Rocks Collecting Thoughts

It was nearly two months since Stuart and Murdoc returned to Stuart's parents’ house. And now, they were getting ready to leave. Murdoc had managed to buy the studio for even lower than it was listed for, and the seller sounded ecstatic that someone was interested in buying the place. The man said the paperwork would be at the house, the key under the mat, and the money would be expected by Thursday. So now he and Stuart were piling Stuart's instruments and general belongings into the Winnebago, preparing to head off. No one else was home, so there was no one to say goodbye to. There was also no one to stop Stuart from leaving with Murdoc.

That’s what the two did once everything they needed was in the Winnebago. They left, off to Essex to the supposedly haunted studio Murdoc bought for dirt.

“Charming place,” Murdoc muttered as he drove up. His sarcasm described it perfectly. Seated atop a sightless hill, the studio loomed over the land below its foundations. It did have a decent sized yard though.

“At least no one can tell us how to live up ‘ere, yeah?” Stuart noticed that Murdoc’s necklace was laying on the outside of the man’s shirt. It made him happy. Murdoc was being himself. Murdoc gave Stuart a nod and a grin in response, and parked the Winnebago. The two carried their stuff into the studio after Murdoc unlocked the door. Stuart went to explore the grounds and Murdoc checked the kitchen table for the paperwork he was supposed to fill out. Today must’ve been his lucky day, because the only paperwork to be a found was a piece of paper with “don’t ever give this damn place back and it’s yours for half the discussed price” written in rushed cursive. Really, Murdoc should’ve seen that as a major red flag. A big warning sign. But instead, he saw the decrease in price and lack of paperwork as a gift from downstairs, and it made him smile. Actually, it had Murdoc in a relatively good mood. He went to go find where Stuart had wandered off to.

Stuart was upstairs where all of the recording equipment was. He was sitting with his keyboard, playing what came to mind. Murdoc snuck in without being noticed, and was struck with goosebumps at the sound. It had been the first time he had actually heard Stuart play. He already knew the man could, but hearing it for the first time was like being brought into a whole different world. Murdoc didn't dare to make a sound. He didn't want the sounds Stuart was pulling from the keyboard to end. It was when Stuart began to sing that Murdoc felt like he had died. He had died the moment Stuart's voice graced his soul. If his soul was still his.

“You're the frontman.” All sound in the room stopped. Murdoc was starting to regret breaking the gentle silence. Making his presence known. Distracting Stuart from whatever spellcasting he was performing. That regret faded when Stuart looked over at Murdoc with big, black, happy eyes. His smile was wide, displaying his two missing teeth perfectly, and in any other situation Murdoc would've made some snide remark about how it looked. But not here. This moment was too perfect.

“You want me to sing?”

“And play keyboard. You sound nice. Think you can handle it?” Stuart nodded, almost like an excited puppy. He felt as if he could cry. Or hug Murdoc. But he didn't do either. It had been a while since Murdoc yelled at him, and he didn't want to ruin this moment by setting the man off. So Stuart stood there, and smiled, and imagined hugging Murdoc instead. Murdoc stepped forward and ruffled Stuart’s hair with his hand. He thought for a moment about how oddly soft the blue mess was. It was a stark contrast to Murdoc’s greasy hair. Now that he thought more on it, he really needed a shower. And better shampoo. And he ran out of product about a week ago.

“Hey Murdoc, what’re you finking ‘bout?” Stuart, evidently, had noticed Murdoc’s hand pausing, tangled in his hair, not looking all there. Murdoc blinked at looked at Stuart a moment, his thoughts lost.

“Nothing important. Don’t let me stop you from continuing on.” Murdoc returned to where he had been leaning against the doorframe, taking his hand with him. For a moment, Stuart missed the feeling of someone playing with his hair. He thought about calling Paula and telling her about the studio. He and Murdoc left so fast, he hardly had a chance to phone her. Stuart put his thoughts aside though, and resumed what he had been playing before Murdoc had spoken up.

Murdoc ended up sitting down in the doorway, and then falling asleep. When Stuart realized he had lost his audience, he just smiled to himself. Murdoc looked rather peaceful like that, half curled up and leaning his back against the frame. Stuart decided that it would be best to let the man rest, however he knew that the doorframe couldn't have been comfortable. So, Stuart picked Murdoc up, careful not to wake him, and carried him to one of the empty bedrooms down the hall. This place had a strange layout, Stuart noticed as he walked as steady as he could. Stuart left Murdoc on the bed, above the covers, and went downstairs to call up Paula. He missed her. He missed the attention. He thought for a moment about how Murdoc's hand in his hair felt. He dialed the number, but only reached her machine. She must've still been at work.

“Hey, love,” Stuart said, pausing a moment because he didn't know what to say, “I uh, I moved out of me parents’ house. I'm over in Essex now, wif me band. I can send the address if you wanna visit. Or I could come see you back in Crawley. We still need a guitarist. The band does. And I miss you. Call me back, yeah?” The line clicked, cutting the message. Stuart took too long to speak, and wasn't able to put anything else on Paula's machine. It was fine though, at least to him. He felt like he said the jist of what his thoughts were. Stuart waited a moment at the phone, waiting for what he didn’t know. Maybe a call back? No, that would’ve been unreasonable. She was most likely at work. Or just simply busy. But he could hope. His hope was for not though, and so after a moment longer, Stuart went to watch tv.

For a moment as he sat down and clicked the remote, he was surprised when the television turned on and cable was going. He didn’t know why. The place at electricity. It had hot water. It had running water. It had internet, albeit rather slow internet, as well. That was the most surprising. His parents’ house hadn’t had internet. His mother always said it would be too expensive to buy, and it wasn’t a necessity. He wondered how he and Murdoc were going to pay for all of this. After all, Murdoc had quit, and Stuart forgot to say anything to his manager so really he just walked out. He made a mental note to call the shop and resign in a more formal fashion. Regardless, having cable still surprised him for a moment. The shock went away rather quickly as Stuart settled down in the couch and watched Red Dwarf. It was all that was on. It had been on for about ten years now. Stuart smiled to himself. The show was about half his age. That was weird to think about. He didn’t feel twenty. He still felt nineteen. It must’ve been spending a year unconscious that created this feeling of a gap. All this thinking and wondering was starting to give Stuart a headache, so he got up and went to the room he claimed as his to get his medication.

Four pills later, Stuart returned to the couch and the tv, and an hour later his mind was fuzzy and he was starting to space out. But, the pain was gone and he rather liked this feeling.

Murdoc woke up about an hour after that. He was still groggy from napping, and was confused about where he was. He could’ve sworn that he had been listening to Stuart sing. That voice. His hair was so soft. So strikingly soft. Maybe it was just a dream. Yeah, that must’ve been it. It must’ve just been a dream. Well, that part at least. That was more affectionate than Murdoc had been with anyone for nearly twelve years. He must’ve fallen asleep, and dreamt up the odd exchange. Murdoc scoffed to himself. This is what he gets for staying sober. That had to have been it. There wasn’t anything there. No way, no how. There couldn’t have been. After all, Stuart had Paula, and Murdoc knew this mysterious woman wasn’t fictional. Though he never actually met her before, he had seen plenty of times the marks, scratches, and hickeys she would leave on Stuart. Every time, Stuart would run to Murdoc for help with hiding the marks. Work in the morning, he’d say.

“Bastard still has my shirt,” Murdoc muttered, realizing he never did get his turtleneck back. It didn’t matter though, because Murdoc would’ve just given it to him again the next time he knocked on the Winnebago door at four in the morning, shirtless and slightly bloody and utterly fucked. Stuart’s hair a blue wreck. A soft, blue wreck. “No, stop that. That was all in your head.” A blue wreck.

Didn’t matter though. Stuart had Paula, and Stuart was happy with Paula. And, if there had been anything there, it’s not like that was a bridge Murdoc would ever cross. He was going to become famous. He was going to return to bedding a different woman every night, he’d get his highs back, and everything was going to be grand. Absolutely grand.

Murdoc got up and went down into the kitchen. When he opened the fridge to find it empty, he realized just how hungry he was.

“Oi, dullard!” Stuart looked up from the couch in the other room.

“What'd you want?”

“Dinner. Let's go.” Stuart jumped on the idea. Last time they had eaten out together, Stuart had a wonderful time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so confession time. I only finished this a few minutes ago, so it's unbetaed. Also, due to life events my muse has pretty much died. I'm going to try to continue writing through this slum but I can't promise that I'll be able to even remotely keep to this update every week schedule. I'm really sorry, everyone, but I don't know how much I'll actually be able to force out of myself. Forgive me...


	8. Feelings, On the Rocks

One would’ve thought that dinner was going to be more than just dinner. That Murdoc was going to use the outing to further his band-in-progress. But really, it had just been dinner. The schemes came the next night.  
Murdoc had left Stuart at the Studio. Told him to call Paula up or something. He ended up saying that with more venom than he had wanted. He didn’t hate Paula, he just, well it was complicated and Murdoc wasn’t quite sure why acknowledging her made his temper so short. But, he left Stuart at home for this adventure.  
Murdoc got to the record shop just before closing, having left Essex much later than he intended. The man behind the counter scowled as Murdoc walked in.  
“Come on, man, I just counted the register. We close in a minute, can’t you come back tomorrow or something?” Murdoc’s reply was to stab a tranquilizing dart into the man’s shoulder. One Russel Hobbs wobbled a moment, and then fell to the ground. Murdoc, using some industrial tape, bound the man’s wrists and ankles together, and dragged the unconscious body out of the shop. Russel was taken to the Winnebago and left out cold on the couch as Murdoc drove off. That had been less painful than Murdoc had expected.  
Murdoc was about to go back to the Studio when he remembered what he had said to Stuart.

“What do you mean I can’t go wif you?” Stuart had given Murdoc the look of a kicked puppy.  
“I mean, you can’t go with me. I wasn’t speakin’ some other language, dullard. I’m going to go pick up our new drummer, and you’re going to go do whatever a 2-D does when I ain’t around.”  
“What’m I supposed to do wifout a car?”  
“Oh go call _Paula_ or something!” Murdoc’s voice had contained more spite than was capable in a man who didn’t care, and he walked out with steps containing even more. The way Murdoc had said Paula’s name put Stuart on edge. Murdoc had never met Paula, had he? No, no he couldn’t have. Otherwise, he would’ve said something about her after she and Stuart hooked up. Stuart couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in his head told him it was a bad idea to see if Paula would answer her phone tonight.  
So instead, after Murdoc left, Stuart walked from Kong Studios down the hill to a TGI Fridays that was relatively nearby. Inside there was not much, but there was enough to keep Stuart occupied. Alone in a booth sat Paula, though Stuart had no clue that she would be there. Naturally, he walked up to her with no consideration towards why she might possibly be sitting there by herself.  
“Oh, hi Stu,” Paula said as Stuart approached. “Sorry about not returning your call.”  
“Oh, it's alright I guess. You got my message then? About the band needed a guitarist?”  
“That's why I'm here, love.” Stuart could feel his heart flutter at the nickname. It was so common to hear in London and yet when it came from her lips, it was like a whole new praise. “I was going to come by in the morning and tell you. I'm joining your band.” Stuart scribbled down the address and gave it to her, how much Murdoc would most likely protest this event not even crossing Stuart’s mind. “Thanks, baby,” Paula replied, and proceeded to kiss Stuart’s cheek and leave. Evidently, the action left Stuart with the bill. But, Stuart didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he took two pills and ordered himself a drink.

When Murdoc got back to the Studio, unconscious Russel Hobbs already dragged inside, he realized the place was empty. It was also very unnerving being in the dark studio with only an unconscious lifeform for company. There was a crash outside. Murdoc turned to look outside, a mantra of ‘there are no such things as ghosts’ being muttered as he moved closer to the window. The phone rang, and Murdoc screamed. It wasn’t a simple scream, but a sound more closely resembling the screeching of tires. He was, for lack of a better word, startled by the sound of the phone. When he answered it, something didn’t feel right.  
“I am officer Dawes, is this Murdoc Niccals?”  
“Why’re you asking?”  
“Stuart Pott is being taken to Shoreline Medical Center. This number was the only emergency contact in his phone.”  
“What happened?”  
“It’s unsure right now, but from the looks of things, a mix of painkillers and alcohol.” Murdoc hung up. Stuart was going to get himself killed. Murdoc couldn’t let that happen. He told himself it was just because he needed the pretty boy for the band, but in the back of his mind Murdoc knew it was something else. But he didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about Stuart’s soft hair, and his pretty face, and his beautiful voice, and how nice it felt to see him happy, and -  
Murdoc grabbed the keys to the Winnebago and drove off.

Stuart woke up to the feeling of a rough, cold hand gently covering his own. He felt too warm. He felt sick. There was a beeping sound. His head hurt like hell. Hurt worse than hell, even. What the fuck?  
Stuart tried to speak, but his mouth felt too dry. His voice came out as a cracked sound. Murdoc looked up from where he sat, and pulled his hand away quickly. Internally he whispered to himself that that had never happened.  
“You stupid fucking dullard, what the hell were you thinking? You put the whole band at risk. Don’t you get it that if you die, this all fucking falls apart?” Stuart winced. Murdoc wasn’t yelling, but his harsh tone still startled Stuart. It didn’t hit him yet, but later on Stuart would realize that Murdoc hadn’t raised his voice. He was acting concerned, not actually pissed. Right now though, Stuart was sitting there afraid of Murdoc blowing up.  
“I’m sorry, Murdoc, I really didn’t fink about what I was doing, I was just gonna ‘ave a few drinks before I walked ‘ome.”  
“And so you drugged yourself first?” Stuart looked down.  
“My ‘ead was killin’ me.”  
“Well you almost killed all of you!” Murdoc sighed when he noticed Stuart was looking away. “Look, just, this whole band thing is important to me. We’re gonna end up rich, me and you. I don’t want this to all sink just because you got experimental.”  
“Alright, Murdoc. I’ll be more careful next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm sorry that this took so long. I shit you not, I wrote about a sentence a day trying to get something done for this fic, and that's all I could manage. Mental stability-wise, I'm doing better but I'm still not where I need to be in order to keep on schedule. It took be two months to write a little over a thousand words. I'm sorry this is so short, but this is what I could manage and I've let this fic collect dust for long enough.  
> Big, huge, never-ending thank you to everyone who has been encouraging and supportive during this low point. Truly, without all of you, I wouldn't have had the strength to get into my documents and force out what I could. Whether I replied to you or not, I've read your comments and they've truly helped.  
> I noticed that this fic has quite the number of kudos now. I truly don't know how, since it was abandoned for about two months, but to everyone who has left kudos, a big ol' never-ending thank you to you too. You all are wonderful, and I couldn't ask for a better group of avid readers.  
> I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I stand by my previous statement. I will try for the life of me not to permanently abandon this fic.


	9. The Music Should Hit the Rocks Below

While Stuart was trapped in the jailcell called a hospital, Murdoc decided to inform the newly kidnapped Russel about his new career. By the end of their little discussion, Murdoc felt like it all had gone well. Russel only tried to strangle him once, and Murdoc even convinced the man to consider the offer after showing him some of the stuff Stuart had written and composed. Better yet, Murdoc didn’t have to threaten Russel with bodily harm either! The day, despite the previous night’s mishap, was going along exceptionally well.

Stuart was released from the hospital two days later, and the first thing he did when he got there was get into the pills he kept in his room. His head was killing him. He hadn't been allowed painkillers in the hospital due to the circumstances of his admission. Had Murdoc visited him? Stuart could only remembered the one instance, when he had first woken up. But then again, that could've just been his imagination. Murdoc had seemed upset with him before he left.  
Stuart embraced the feeling of numbing all his senses. In that moment he thought to himself, God bless extra strength painkillers.  
There was a knock at the door. There was another, more forceful knock before Stuart got up and answered it. Murdoc stood in the doorway, looking especially sour.  
“Paula’s here,” was all he said before heading down the hall. Stuart felt his heart leap. Paula had really meant it when she said she was in.  
Stuart went downstairs to see Paula sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in her hand and her guitar propped up against the table. She didn’t smile at him when he smiled at her, but she held his hand when he sat beside her so Stuart was one happy camper.  
“So, when’s practice?” Stuart shrugged. He and Murdoc hadn’t actually ever had a band practice yet. Now that he thought more on it, Stuart hadn’t even met the new drummer yet.  
“You’ll ‘ave to ask Murdoc, ‘e organizes everyfing.” Paula didn’t say anything else after that, but Stuart was fine with it. He had started spacing out at that point anyway. A few more than recommended extra strength painkillers will do that to a man.  
Later in the day, Stuart possibly had met Russel, but he really didn’t remember anything clearly. There were introductions, one of the two men glared at Murdoc, and then Stuart messed around on his keyboard for a bit. Russel had been impressed, or at least that’s what Murdoc said later that night as he nearly drooled over the memory of Stuart’s little performance. See, that night after the introductions, Murdoc was in Stuart’s room telling him about what all happened that afternoon. He had known that Stuart was, without a doubt, too high to think clearly at the time, so he took the liberty onto himself to tell Stuart with great animation what all had happened. Murdoc spoke with his hands more than with his mouth, making all sorts of hand movements to accompany his excited words. Had Stuart been a bit more sober, he might’ve found it out of character for the usually ill-tempered man. Instead, Stuart found it almost endearing how excitable Murdoc was over his music, especially considering that Stuart didn’t think of his music as very good music. It was just music, just sounds that he’d make his keyboard make. But Murdoc saw it as magic being pulled from the keys, music to the soul he didn’t actually have. And by the time he had finished his excessive monologue, Stuart realized Murdoc was ruffling his hair again. He didn’t mind it though, he really didn’t. It felt nice, and though it didn’t cross his mind at the time, it was more affection that Paula ever gave him outside of the way she’d cling to him when they would fuck.  
Murdoc left Stuart’s room not long after, ignoring the fact that not only had he started messing with Stuart’s hair again, but Stuart hadn’t stopped him this time either. Before he left, Murdoc muttered a quick “jam at four tomorrow,” to Stuart, who later that night relayed the message to Paula and Russel before falling asleep on the couch after a couple more pills.

That jam session had been the worst session Murdoc had ever had the displeasure to experience. By the end of that day, even Stuart’s piano magic couldn’t improve his mood. Actually, the more Murdoc thought on it, Stuart’s piano magic was all he wanted to hear. No more of that screeching guitar, especially no more of the amp feedback. That high pitched dagger combined with the squeaking sound of fake nails scraping against metal strings as fingers moved would be the end to all known life as far as Murdoc and his grating headache were concerned. Murdoc was about fetch a gun at the sound of the knock on the door, until he heard Stuart’s voice come quietly from the other side.  
“Murdoc? I wanted to talk about Paula.” Murdoc opened the door to reveal a dark hallway and the blue-haired man in the doorframe. Murdoc didn’t say anything, but he left the door open as he walked back to his bed and laid down. Stuart took that as an invitation to come in, and so he did, and he shut the door behind him with as little sound as he could manage. “I know you’ve got a ‘eadache and all but, I really promise you she’s bettah than that. I don’t know what’s got ‘er all, you know, makin’ mistakes an’ all.” Murdoc just nodded along as Stuart talked. He didn’t care, not really. The band needed a guitar player, and maybe with some practice, Stuart’s little bird would create something worth listening to. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Murdoc thought not. Thought Stuart was just blinded by love, or lust. Most likely lust. For some reason, Murdoc really hoped that Stuart’s dick was doing the thinking throughout this and not his scrambled brains.  
“So what you’re saying is, don’t kick out your girlfriend just yet?” Stuart nodded with a level of enthusiasm only he could have, and only after he had taken his painkillers. The room was dark. Murdoc smiled, and for once it wasn’t a scraggly smile or a wry smile. It was a warm smile. The smile of a friend. Murdoc wouldn’t give Paula the boot until someone better showed up to prove they could take her place, because Stuart asked him to.  
Stuart didn’t say anything else, but he did hold out his bottle of painkillers to Murdoc. Murdoc, greedy as ever, took them without hesitation. It wasn’t even because of his headache, though the headache did help encourage it. The man just simply wanted to get high, and this was all he had. Well, all he had except for the sixty milligrams of speed he had conned off an addict a while back. But that, that sweet touch of angelic bliss and energy was being saved for something important.  
Stuart ended up falling asleep against Murdoc, and against the man’s better judgement, he didn’t shove the keyboardist off immediately. The moment was sweet, sickeningly so. Both high and exhausted, one barely conscious and the other fast asleep. The moment ended with Murdoc carrying Stuart back to his room when he thought the coast was clear.  
It wasn’t. Russel had been making his way back from the bathroom just in time to see the affectionate display of the satanist carrying one sleeping blue-haired man down the hall. It made him wonder just how close Stuart and Murdoc really were, but at the time Russel was too tired to care. The beds in the studio bedrooms weren’t the worst, and those warm sheets were calling his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling a bit better but still no set schedule. School is coming up and guess what takes priority. Actually it's finding a job, but school comes in a close tie. I will continue writing though, and have some other projects with some other fandoms I've started to try and push me out of this little funk. Thank you to everyone who's been sticking with this story through the hardships, we're all in this together, do or die!


	10. Things Just Keep Getting Rockier

It lasted a month. Maybe, just maybe it lasted a bit longer. But how it ended? Oh boy, it ended with a crash. With broken bones and broken hearts. And when had it all gone south? Well, that would be when Paula made a move against the leader himself.  
“So, you fancy me or what?” Murdoc looked up from his bass, confused by her words and annoyed she was even talking to him. He came down to the bathroom stalls to get away from everyone else for a while. To write and play and not have to listen to her prattle on. To not have to watch Stuart adore her with his big, stupid, black orbs of a couple of eyes. And yet here she was, leaning against the bathroom doorway as if she owned the place.  
“Why would I fancy a bird like you? I might like ‘em easy, but not _that_ easy.” Paula should’ve been insulted. Instead, she continued her advance. She knew all the right buttons to push, all the words to say. This was a game she had been playing for quite some time.  
“So, you’re just a little faggot boy then. I see how it is now. Hate for the others to find out though, can’t imagine they’d let you boss them around after hearing that you like to take it up the arse from other men.” Murdoc’s face twisted up in a snarl. In that moment, Paula was not Paula. She was Murdoc’s father. He threw his guitar at her as reality bled back and chased out the sudden resemblance. He had missed.  
“I’m not some bloody damn faggot, stupid slut!”  
“Then fuck me like a real man would, unless you’re lying like a faggot would!” That was when Murdoc got up and pushed Paula against the bathroom wall. She wrapped her legs around him as they all but waged war with their lips. It was rough and messy, and no more sexy than a lion trying to kill. There was no passion, no emotion, just Murdoc trying to prove Paula wrong.  
_I’m not some stupid dumb faggot, no matter what my father would say!_  
And yet the man’s words echoed through Murdoc’s head. There wouldn’t be any fucking in that moment, nothing kills a boner like a bigoted, overbearing father. But, for Murdoc’s safety, that was probably for the best.  
Because in that moment, as Murdoc was biting Paula’s lip and Paula was grinding against Murdoc’s front, Russel walked into the bathroom.  
“Oh hell no.” Russel wrenched Murdoc away from Paula and slugged the bassist square in the nose. An audible crack echoed through the bathroom, the acoustics of the space showing off their capabilities. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”  
“What’s wrong with me? Jesus, you giant lard, what’s wrong with you!? I think you broke my nose!” Paula at this point had slipped out, taking the opportunity to make her escape.to the upstairs. She’d be able to play her victim card with Stuart, she knew she had him wrapped around her finger and sitting neatly in her metaphoric purse. Russel, despite his size, moved much faster than the woman in heels. Behind him he was dragging Murdoc as if Murdoc was a child to be shamed. He busted into Stuart’s room, startling the poor guy, and threw Murdoc to the floor.  
“Tell him what you did, you sadistic fuck!” Stuart looked at Murdoc, confused and concerned for the man on the floor.  
“I didn’t do anything! That skank came onto me!”  
“Bullshit!”  
“What are you two talking about?” Stuart’s normally timid voice bellowed over both Russel’s and Murdoc’s argument. Murdoc looked up at Stuart, shocked that his voice could ever command so much authority. Russel, however, took the moment of shocked silence to speak.  
“I caught Murdoc in the downstairs bathroom trying to get freaking with Paula.” Stuart teared up. That shouldn’t have done anything. Murdoc shouldn’t have cared. But he did. Oh boy, did he care. But after everything that happened, Murdoc couldn’t get those thoughts out of his head. _Worthless faggot. Never going to amount to anything if you like men. Pussyass child. Disappointment of a son._ He wanted to apologize. He wanted to keep Stuart from crying. He didn’t know why he didn’t. Murdoc snorted instead. Told Stuart he hadn’t missed much. Told Stuart she wasn’t even that great of a kisser. Russel punched Murdoc again to shut him up, effectively breaking his nose in two more places.  
“Did you fuck ‘er?” Stuart asked, trying to bite back a sob. Murdoc shook his head no, and then held his nose in pain. “Just kissed ‘er?” Stuart received a nod yes.  
“She wanted to fuck me, you know. Wanted me more then she wanted you.” And there came another punch that ended that conversation. Two more breaks to Murdoc’s nose, plus a swift and forceful entrance into a nap, was what Russel’s fist granted him this time. Stuart steeled himself as Paula walked in.  
“Stuart, honey, I can explain-” She never got the chance to finish.  
“Get out of my studio, get out of my band, and get out of my life. It’s over, Paula. I was wrong to fink you loved me, now get!” Paula, shocked that Stuart wasn’t taking her side, stepped back out into the hall and walked to her room. When Russel left as well, closing the door behind him, Stuart crumpled into a tiny messy ball of limbs and cried what could’ve made a river.  
And when he was done, Stuart looked over at the unconscious Murdoc and muttered aggressive words that could only ever come from heartbreak, though Stuart didn’t know if he was heartbroken over Murdoc and Paula because it was Paula, or because it was Murdoc.  
“Consider yourself lucky I’m not gonna slit your bloody throat tonight.”

In the morning, Paula’s room was empty, and Paula was gone. Stuart had moved Murdoc to the hallway, rightfully angry at the man too much for the kind action of bringing Murdoc to his bed. He let him lay out there on the cold, hard floor until he woke up. Murdoc woke up to the cold, hard floor in the wee early hours of five in the morning. Stuart was holed up in his room, either moping or sleeping, and Russel was downstairs making the first pot of coffee.  
Murdoc’s entire face felt like nothing other than pain, with a dash of pain, and an extra serving of even more pain. He got up and felt his way along the wall to the bathroom, where he tried to reset his nose. Though, he really shouldn’t have, since he ended up doing a horribly botched job of it. It was painful, and would without a doubt heal incorrectly.  
He decided to go back to his room and write a bit to use in a song, effectively avoiding both Russel and Stuart for quite some time. Food was left outside his room, but Stuart was still rightfully upset about what happened, and Russel was still utterly pissed about the entire turn of events. When Murdoc’s bass notes became too much, Stuart would sleep downstairs in the living room, on the couch with a blanket and an extra pillow. He started sleeping on the couch two days after Paula left.  
Murdoc ran into Stuart on accident a little over a week afterwards, on a search for some extra food and something to drink that would put his liver through hell. Stuart, high as a kite and, despite being so doped up on his painkillers, wide awake, watched Murdoc as he stumbled through the kitchen. The man didn’t have the lack of grace that a drunkard would, but instead it was more of the lack of grace one would have if they hadn’t slept well in a good long time.  
“Why’d you do it?” Stuart’s voice made Murdoc jump, almost causing the man to drop the halfassed sandwich he managed to craft.  
“Bloody hell, 2-D, you nearly-”  
“Shut the fuck up and answer me.” Stuart was bold, his anger and heartbreak crispened his bravery for the time being. His pills dulled his headache, but not his reactions this time. Murdoc was taken aback, so much so that he answered honestly, albeit vaguely.  
“I’m not gay.”  
“I don’t care, and I didn’t ask. Now answer the question, Murdoc. Why’d you try to fuck Paula?” Murdoc looked down. He didn’t sleep enough for this.  
“2-D, I didn’t try to fuck her.” He sat down at the kitchen table, sandwich and bottle of whiskey ignored for the time being. “Look, I don’t want to get into it, but I didn’t try to fuck her. She was screwing with me, saying this shit. I know you don’t believe me, don’t want to, but she was bad news.”  
“If you don’t want to tell me then fine, just leave me alone. Or get me some better drugs, all this is worsening my headaches.” Perhaps if Stuart had been in a more clear state of mind, he would’ve pieced together what Murdoc had been saying. Perhaps if Murdoc wasn’t so damaged, he would’ve been able to rightfully apologize instead of talking around it all and not admitting he had wronged Stuart. He knew he wronged the man, but something inside prevented him from admitting it. Instead, Murdoc got up, took his sandwich and his alcohol, and walked over to the couch that Stuart had taken up residency for the night on. He put his hand on Stuart’s head, silently admiring how soft those blue locks where. He wondered for a moment how Stuart got his hair such a color. He hadn’t seen Stuart dye it. Murdoc didn’t know that it was technically natural, didn’t know what happened when Stuart fell from that tree when he was a child. Then again, most days Stuart didn’t know either.  
Murdoc left before Stuart said anything else, but he left the whiskey bottle on the coffee table for Stuart when he did go.


	11. All Rocks Smooth Over Time

It never really had stopped when the doorbell rung. Months later, and the wound Murdoc carved into Stuart had yet to truly heal. But the doorbell still rung, and upon answering the door, it was revealed that a rather large FedEx box sat on the doorstep of Kong Studio. The return address was some place somewhere in Japan, but none of the trio knew much more than that.  
“This your doing?” Russel asked Murdoc, who just replied with a shake of his head. When Russel looked at Stuart, he just shrugged, having not a clue who could’ve sent such a large box. Before anyone could say anything else, the top of the crate was launched off and out from the containment sprung an eight-year-old with a Les Paul in hand. She stood tall and proud, guitar in hand, and spoke what the others could only assume was an introduction in Japanese. At the end of her voice, she strummed her guitar once. Twice. Murdoc snickered at the attempt, and the child began to rip notes from her guitar, pulling out sounds from the soulless depths of the musical instrument that no man had ever believed to be possible.  
“‘At’s the rift to end all rifts,” Stuart muttered, though no one could hear him over the sound of the young girl’s shredding skills. “Like two ‘undred demons screaming in Arabic. Brilliant!”  
By the time the girl’s finger’s came to a slowing stop, the men were stunned. She leapt forward, propelling herself into the most striking karate kick any of them had ever seen. To the speechless crowd, she spoke a single English word.  
“Noodle.” She beamed with pride, standing before the three, only eight years old or so, tall as she could. Murdoc was the first to speak, though he was still shaken by the powerful force of the girl’s masterpiece.  
“So, Noodle is it? Well Noodle, welcome to Gorillaz.” Noodle, as the girl was now named, didn’t lose her look of pride. Murdoc, inspired by the rift Noodle introduced herself with, looked at Stuart with what could only be a look of determination. Stuart hated himself for knowing what Murdoc was planning. And so, he said nothing that would announce what Murdoc had decided to do. He stood there, feigning ignorance, until Russel spoke up.  
“So, we got a full band again. This mean we’re going to start making some music now?”  
“Russ, my dear old friend-”  
“We aren’t friends,” Russel interjected, but Murdoc ignored him.  
“I’ve got a song idea. We’ve got practice to do.”  
The practice Murdoc spoke of actually took place the next day. For the rest of that day, Noodle explored the Studio, Stuart got high, and Russel did whatever a Russel does when Murdoc isn’t being a giant prick. Murdoc, speaking of, was holed up in his room, writing what one could only assume to be lyrics for the song idea he so proudly announced he had after Noodle’s arrival. He was in there all of the day, only leaving the room for food, alcohol, and bathroom breaks. Had Stuart not still been mad at him for the Paula situation, he would’ve kept him company during his musical binge. Or, at least, he would’ve checked in on the man every so often. But Stuart was still mad, and so he didn’t do anything to go out of his way for the satanist.  
The practice, it took an hour to get it right. Only an hour, and the group had a recording that Murdoc was satisfied with.  
“This,” he said, holding up the disk it was copied onto, “this right here is going to be our ticket to fame and fortune, boys and Noodle.”  
“Yeah!” Noodle cheered, her accent thick and warping her English. She was sitting atop the amp that was plugged into her guitar, swinging her legs and beaming. Her smile was the childlike kind that could bring sunshine into a windowless room. The child’s joy was contagious, seeing as Murdoc kept his happy mood for most of the day. It was, in a way, affecting Stuart as well.  
After recording, Russel and Noodle left the recording room, off to do whatever they so pleased to. Stuart, however, decided to stay behind a moment. Murdoc would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy that Stuart wasn’t ignoring him anymore. Though, he’d never admit it and take that sort of blow to his pride.  
“Murdoc, we should talk.”  
“I’m not apologizing, if that’s what you’re looking for.”  
“I’m not.” That surprised Murdoc, quite a bit actually. If he wasn’t looking for an apology, what Stuart doing going around ignoring him for months? “Mudz, I just want to know what actually ‘appened.” The nickname, Stuart had only used it once before. Once, when he was actually stoned and Murdoc was expectedly drunk, when his head was on Murdoc’s chest and Paula was still in the band.  
“I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t try to fuck her,” Murdoc replied. Maybe it was the nickname that meant more to him than it should, or maybe he just missed having Stuart around, but Murdoc was mentally kicking himself until only the truth fell from his lips. “She was saying so much shit, trying to get me to kiss her, to fuck her. She was using you to get famous, I’m sure of it.”  
“What did she say?” Stuart didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to think that Paula would’ve tried to seduce Murdoc. “What exactly did she say?”  
“She wanted me to kiss her, and I said no, told her to piss off.” Murdoc paused, bit his lip as his eyes seemed to grow darker. His whole demeanor changed. It frightened Stuart, because Murdoc had the same demeanor that he’d get when he was beyond furious. When he was going to hit Stuart and frighten him until Stuart hid, locked up in his room too afraid to leave. It was how Stuart knew that, despite not wanting to believe his words, Murdoc was telling the truth. No one would get so explosively angry over a lie, not even Murdoc. “She called me a faggot, ‘cause I wouldn’t fuck her. So I-”  
“So you proved her wrong.” Stuart filled in the blank when Murdoc’s voice stopped. The man nodded, though it looked as if he had to force himself to.  
“I’m not gay, 2-D,” Murdoc muttered. Stuart shook his head. This was almost comical to him. If Murdoc didn’t still look so pissed, he would’ve said so too.  
“I told you before, I don’t care if ya are or if ya aren’t.” Stuart went to leave, but just before he did, he hugged Murdoc quickly. Ever so quickly, just a blink of the eye and then he wasn’t touching him anymore. “Fanks for being honest, Mudz.”  
Stuart was out of the room, and Murdoc stood there alone. It was only for a moment, but that hug, something buried deep inside Murdoc wanted it to have lasted longer. Even just a moment longer. He ignored it, told himself it was nothing and then he got to work determining where to send the disk for the best chance of getting the band’s music out there. But the feeling persisted, just like the way he felt in those calm moments when Stuart would sing and Murdoc would card his fingers through the man’s hair and lose himself in the sound of Stuart’s voice. Murdoc continued to ignore it.  
Downstairs, Noodle and Stuart sat on the couch, a Nintendo Russel had found at a pawn shop plugged into the only working television. They took turns mashing buttons and smashing the heads of Goombas and Koopas alike, each trying to make it through the level faster than the other. With more points than the other. Using less lives than the other. Friendly competition at its finest, and it didn’t take much explaining for Noodle to understand what the main objective was. From what Stuart could deduce in his medicated haze, Noodle understood English plenty. It was only speaking it that she faltered at. Often, as Stuart would get ahead of her, she would what he could only assume was curse at him in rapid Japanese despite being only eight years old or so. Or, when Noodle passed Stuart rather drastically, she would taunt him in a similar fashion. It was all in good fun though, for when Noodle ran out of extra lives, she would cheer Stuart on, chanting in Japanese and screaming “Two-chee!” as if the volume of her voice alone would bring Stuart to victory.  
They made it to world five before game over had befallen over the both of them, and Noodle became bored with trying to reattempt the endeavour. So instead, she sifted through the few other games the console had been sold with as Stuart got up to make something to eat. One would think that due to Stuart’s eyesight being, well, shit, that he would struggle with crafting anything. But, he successfully crafted two grilled cheese sandwiches, one of which he handed to Noodle. She took it, and seemed to like it. Stuart was almost always on his own, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t cook at all. Most of the time, he just chose not to. It was quite the hassle to him, and everything was easier when he could just microwave something quick. That being said, Stuart also wasn’t a phenomenal cook either. He was average at the trade, a bit out of practice at that. Though, swearing by a microwave and not a stove will do that sometimes.  
Murdoc hadn’t come downstairs for quite a while, so Stuart decided to make another grilled cheese and bring him one. He checked Murdoc’s room, but there was no answer at the door. So, Stuart decided to check the recording room, to find Murdoc leaned up against a side wall with his bass as low as his hips. Stuart stood in the doorway, listening to the melancholy notes Murdoc was strumming, feeling the way the sounds reverberated throughout Stuart’s entire body. To him, there was something magical about notes in that low of an octave. Murdoc wasn’t a decent bassist, not really, but Stuart liked it regardless.  
After a moment, Stuart decided to take a risk and make his presence known. He walked forward and held the grilled cheese sandwich out in front of Murdoc.  
“Fought you might be hungry.”  
“‘Anks,” he replied after noticing the sandwich. Murdoc let the bass hang just below his hips from the strap across his shoulder as he took the grilled cheese off the plate and took a bite.  
“I like your guitar.” Stuart hoped that his attempt at making conversation wouldn’t upset Murdoc. It would appear it hadn’t, since Murdoc perked up.  
“Yeah? She’s pretty great,” he said, holding the bass by the neck with one hand to show it off, keeping the grilled cheese sandwich in the other hand. Stuart nodded, and reached out to touch it, having forgotten what happened the last time he had done that. Murdoc didn’t seem to notice until it was too late. Just as he went to tell Stuart to not touch his guitar, Stuart’s fingers brushed across the strings, burning lines into his fingertips marking where skin touched metal strings. He screamed in pain, not terribly loudly though and it was moreso a scream of surprise. Murdoc held the sandwich in his mouth and took his guitar off from around his neck. He set it and the sandwich to the side and turned to Stuart, who now held his burnt hand in pain. Murdoc knelt beside Stuart, not appearing to be upset, just concerned.  
“Dents, let me see it,” Murdoc said quietly, worried that his guitar had done some serious damage. Stuart held out his hand for Murdoc slowly, revealing not only the glaring new burns but also the light scarring the first burn from the guitar had left on Stuart’s palm. Murdoc looked over Stuart’s new burns for a moment, deciding that it’d be easy to keep them from getting infected. Stuart became nervous when Murdoc’s attention drew to his palm. “How’d you get this?” Murdoc held up Stuart’s palm into view.  
“I, um-”  
“You touched my guitar.” Stuart nodded rather sheepishly, hoping that if he appeared apologetic, Murdoc wouldn’t hurt him in a fit of rage. “You can’t go doing that. I told you already, don’t ever touch my guitar. Only I can touch my guitar.”  
“Fought you were only being possessive,” Stuart said, nearly whispering his words.  
“No, you dullard, though I don’t want you messing with my stuff either way.” Murdoc rolled his eyes. He still didn’t seem angry, so Stuart began to relax.  
“How’d your bass hurt me like this ‘en?” Murdoc’s expression grew sour at the question. He didn’t much want to talk about that, not yet at least. Perhaps when his deal had been fulfilled he’d be more open about the exchange he made with the deity he worshipped, but today was not that day.  
“Just some magic. Don’t worry about that, you need to go make sure your burns are clean though. Wouldn’t want you to lose a finger,” Murdoc replied with a grin. He was half joking, and Stuart could tell. The blue-haired man returned the grin, though his was rather lopsided and displayed his two missing teeth a bit more than Murdoc would’ve liked. It was bad enough Stuart’s black eyes would forever haunt him. He didn’t want to think about how he ruined such a nice smile on such a pretty face. That last part was shaken from Murdoc’s head almost as soon as it appeared. After all, Murdoc Niccals was certainly most definitely without a doubt, totally not gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo boy it's been too long. I got to see these bastards in concert last night, had to drive quite the way but the long trip was completely worth it! Guess who has their muse back! I'm still not going to set myself on a definite schedule, because I am in school still and college is a bitch and a half, but expect another update before the end of the month!  
> Maybe I'll do something special for Halloween *wink wink*  
> Big huge ol' thank you to those of you who continue to read this trainwreck! And to any newcomers, welcome welcome, I'm glad you've decided to read my little slice of fic!


	12. When Rocks Find the Gravity of Other Rocks

Murdoc Niccals was certainly most definitely without a doubt, totally potentially even a small bit gay. He was, for all intensive purposes and legitimate classifications, a potentially bisexual individual.  
It took about a week for the news to come through the mail, but when it did, Stuart brought the letter up to Murdoc’s room. He had been a bit confused as to why a letter from some recording company had come through the post and not email, and he figured that if this was Murdoc’s doing, he would set it all straight. When Stuart handed the letter in question over to Murdoc, the man tore it open and read it with a speed no one had ever seen before. Stuart was able to pick out a few words from Murdoc’s muttered reading, and the next thing he knew, Murdoc had grabbed Stuart and kissed him.  
Murdoc became more eager as he read the letter. The recording he had sent to EMI was received well, they had a gig at the Camden Brownhouse. It wasn’t a great gig but it was better than nothing, and certainly better than other places Murdoc had played. The letter said, as Murdoc skimmed over it rather quickly, that the company’s A&R man Whiffy Smithy or something along those lines would be keeping an eye on the band’s sound. It was the best news Murdoc had heard since this whole load started. He was so happy, overjoyed even, that he did the first thing that his mind came up with. Murdoc grabbed Stuart by his shirt collar, and pulled the man down into the deepest kiss Murdoc had ever given anyone. Stuart was surprised, and while he didn’t necessarily kiss back, he also didn’t push Murdoc away. He was just simply surprised by the action.  
The realization of what he just did struck Murdoc a moment later, and he just sort of stopped. He let go of Stuart, letting the man return to his normal height, and just stood there in shock. What had he just done? Why had he just done that? Why was _that_ of all things what he decided to do upon hearing that his band was finally going to be paid attention to?  
“That was nice.” Stuart received a fist to the jaw for his comment.  
“Shut the fuck up, goddamn idiot!”  
“Didn’t mean it like that!” Stuart shrinked back, creating significant distance between Murdoc and himself. “Wasn’t being sarcastic, really fought it was a nice kiss. Got me ‘eart racin’ an’ whatnot!” Murdoc didn’t seem to react, but it didn’t seem like he was going to hurt Stuart either, so Stuart took a risk and returned to his original place. With the utmost caution, Stuart took Murdoc’s hand and placed it against his chest. Sure enough, his pulse was rapid. While it could’ve been written off as the medications Stuart ate like candy, or having just been socked in the jaw, Murdoc didn’t write it off as such. He saw it as something he caused. He caused this. Murdoc looked up at Stuart, internally damning the minor height different between the two, and flashed the man a sly, crooked smile.  
“Like that, eh?” Murdoc leaned up close, letting his voice drop. Inhibitions gone, for the moment at least, chased away by the thrill and the joy of the suggestion of the band moving to make it big. “Like it when I pull you down and kiss you like you belong to me?” Stuart almost doubled over in his snicker. He playfully pushed Murdoc back, grinning.  
“Come on, Mudz, fought you weren’t gay and all that?”  
“Come on, 2-D, fought you di’n’t care an’ all ‘at?” Murdoc was mocking him at this point, thickening his subtle accent to poke fun at how thick Stuart’s accent would get. Stuart laughed, because he knew he didn’t sound like that, and Murdoc sounded ridiculous.  
“I don’t care, really. Just a bit surprised is all.”  
“Yeah well, don’t go telling anyone, or I’ll give the demons your soul instead.” Stuart raised an eyebrow, and Murdoc realized immediately that he had slipped up.  
“Did you-”  
“Get out.”  
“What?”  
“I’m only going to ask you nicely once, Dents. Get out of my room and don’t go asking any questions!” Stuart’s demeanour visibly sunk. He had been having such a good time, being able to playfully push Murdoc back without fear of getting hit or anything.  
“Alright, Mudz, I’ll go. It’s alright, I won’t tell noone. Heat of the moment fing, yeah? But, you should tell Russ and Noodle too. About the gig, I mean. It’s in November, yeah? Isn’t too far away, actually pretty close coming.” And with that, Stuart left, and Murdoc wished he hadn’t told Stuart to leave. Wished he hadn’t slipped up and nearly revealed the state of his soul, or, moreso, his lack thereof. But, his pride - or in some eyes, his shame - kept him from calling Stuart back, so instead Murdoc reread the letter and smiled to himself. November 5th, that’s when it would show if his deal would be worthwhile.

When Murdoc went downstairs to announce the news, he was just overjoyed as he was when Stuart brought him the letter. Well, he acted like it. While he was still happy about the gig, the initial excitement was already spent. Not that Stuart minded any, considering he was the one who got to witness Murdoc’s true reaction to the letter. He knew full well that the entire reaction wouldn’t be replayed, he knew from the way Murdoc spoke that he would never admit to kissing the man. But, Stuart didn’t particularly mind that either. There was no sense in thinking too much over an action so small as a kiss. And with that dismissal of his current train of thought, Stuart took two pills and suggested going out for drinks to celebrate.  
His idea was shot down with a reminder that there was an eight year old living with the band now. Well, his idea was shot down by Russel. Murdoc, however, jumped on the suggestion of alcohol.  
“Well, Russ, if you don’t want to go out and have a few drinks, that’s fine by me. Stay home with the rugrat,” Murdoc said as he fetched a jacket. Noodle, not appreciating how Murdoc was talking to Russel, sauntered up to Murdoc and slapped her hand down onto his stomach. Murdoc reeled back with an _oof!_ and Noodle giggled at his reaction. Murdoc left shortly after that, muttering something about damning the rest of them. Stuart looked over at Russel, but only offered a shrug of an explanation.  
“Pizza then?” Stuart’s second suggestion was met with the cheers of Noodle, and Russel going off to dial the pizza joint.  
Twenty pounds including a tip for the delivery boy later, the gang minus Murdoc had one fresh pepperoni and one steaming hot cheese pizza on the counter of the kitchen begging for whoever wanted what to eat as much as they could before the irritable bassist could return from the bar and consume the rest.  
After Russel fell asleep on the couch, Del appeared before Stuart and Noodle, joining them to watch whatever was playing on the television at the moment.  
Murdoc returned late into the night. Or, well, incredibly early in the morning. He was as drunk as a skunk as he stumbled in, encountering no one until he reached the second floor of Kong. Noodle was up, rummaging around in the kitchen in the dark, fetching herself water or something of the sort when Murdoc reached there. She looked up from the cabinet just in time to see him fall onto his face, unable to walk properly with the heavy alcohol in his system. Noodle grinned in amusement at the rather defenseless version of Murdoc. When he struggled to stay standing, she decided to climb down from the counter and abandon her attempts at getting a drink to help the man find his room.  
“You tell any’ne,” Murdoc slurred, embarrassed that his guide was an eight year old. “I’ll ship ya back ta’ Jap’n or where’er you’re from.”  
“Okay,” was all Noodle said. Well, it was all she knew how to say in reply to Murdoc’s drunken threat. It wasn’t that she felt threatened, quite the opposite actually, she simply did not think that the man could comprehend a foreign language in his current inebriated state. If anything, her short response was a kindness to Murdoc’s brain as it simmered in a mixture of the chemical break-downs of straight rum, whiskey, and an unnatural number of mojitos.  
The two made it to Murdoc’s room without much further difficulty, and Murdoc was out cold once he found his bed. Though, Murdoc didn't sleep for very long, since about an hour later he was running to the toilet. As he vomited the remainder of his stomach contents, he wondered vaguely about what exactly occurred the previous night that kept him from going out for drinks with his new mates. He played through the events he could remember. His band got a gig, he kissed Stuart, he told the band they got a show to play, he got drunk, he woke up in his own bed.  
Panic rose up in Murdoc as he went over the previous night’s events. _I kissed 2-D_. Murdoc felt as if he was going to throw up again. _Oh Satan, the boy must hate me after that. That was so stupid of me! Why did I even do that? I’m not gay! I can’t be gay._  
Murdoc was pulled from his frantic thoughts of denial by a knock at the bathroom door.  
“Russ, you in there?” It was Stuart, albeit a very tired and not quite yet high one.  
“Jus’ gimme a minute,” Murdoc replied without thinking. No, no he shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have come home after the bar. Stuart probably thinks he’s just some stupid fag. _Just like Father said you’d be. You’re worse than your father, worse, worse, worse, worse, worse, worse, worse-_  
“Alrigh’, mate. I’ll be downstairs if you need somefing.” Murdoc could hear Stuart walk away from the door and down the hall. He hadn’t sounded angry, or spiteful, or disgusted, or anything else one’s voice tends to show when the speaker despises who they’re speaking to. Murdoc would know the different sounds, too, considering how often he heard them throughout his life.  
When Murdoc finally was able to stand without losing his stomach, he washed off his face and flushed the bile, alcohol, and whatever else he retched into the toilet down into the oblivion of the sewers. Outside the bathroom door, Murdoc found a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. There was a sticky-note stuck to the cap of the pills bottle; a smiley face drawn in Sharpie, and a crudely written ‘for the hangover’ were the only things on the paper. Murdoc smiled slightly, mostly to himself. These had to have been from Stuart, that blue-haired man was the only one who actively carried around a bottle of pills in his pocket.  
The gesture, as small as it was, erased the worry that Stuart detested Murdoc. At least, it did for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They kiss! Think the slow burn aspect of this is going to be gone now? Yeah think again. We haven't even completed Phase 1 yet.  
> But hey! I updated sooner than a month! Still not setting a schedule, maybe once school is out for break then I will, but for right now, not yet.  
> Life is stressful, dear readers. Very, very stressful. I send you all the best!


	13. The Rock Gets Rolling

November 5th. It was relatively early in the night, only a few songs in, but Murdoc never felt more alive. He was playing for keeps in London, the crowd was wild, Russel didn’t miss a beat and Noodle was playing some inhuman level of guitar. And Stuart was, well, Murdoc was trying not to think about Stuart at the moment. There were too many confusing feelings and thoughts that he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. In all actuality, he’d been going on like this for the worse part of two and a half weeks now. Stuart would do sweet little things for Murdoc, or maybe he was just being Stuart and Murdoc was too used to cruelty still, and Murdoc would try to push him away. Stuart brushed it off though, Murdoc just needed some space to sort out his head. But it would take its toll on Stuart eventually, seeing as Murdoc was at his worst whenever they were in public together.  
But tonight, tonight was a night for showing off and music and-  
And a riot had broken out just as Stuart started the first line. Well, screamed the first line. Murdoc gave him silent props for keeping the song authentic to its recorded form. Though, the mentally sent props weren’t being transmitted for very long, as a stray beer bottle was sent flying into Murdoc’s chest. The crowd throughout the venue was a madhouse, a true riot that rumbled through the halls and the dancefloor.  
Shots rang through the air, and Stuart, spooked as ever, grabbed Noodle and dove behind Russel’s drum kit. Russel, memories of New York still fresh in his mind, pulled Noodle and Stuart close with one hand and held his drumstick as if it were a weapon in the other. Murdoc, dumbfounded by the whole idea, stayed standing up on the stage as a man from the back continued to fire rounds from his shotgun up to disburse the crowd. The rioting didn’t die down any; it only moved to make a pathway for the man with the shotgun.  
When he reached the stage, he looked up at Murdoc.  
“I take it you’re the leader of this band here?” Murdoc looked at the man below him, almost disgusted by his stature.  
“Depends,” Murdoc replied with a sneer, “who wants to know?”  
“EMI,” the man replied, handing Murdoc a business card. “Name’s Smiffy, A&R. If you and your compatriots would care to join me at the studio, there are some matters I would like to discuss.” Murdoc took the card, but further ignored the man. The man, having done this many times before, took the hint and left. Murdoc, on the other hand, went back to the others and somehow they managed to get out of the rioting venue alive.  
Murdoc told the others about the A&R man on their walk to EMI Studios. Though Stuart never voiced it, part of him hoped for a moment that Murdoc would kiss him again in the heat of excitement. But, Murdoc’s actions didn’t even hint at debating whether or not to, so Stuart pushed the thought out of his mind. After all, Murdoc had said rather explicitly several times that he was not into men. Though, in Stuart’s defense, for a man who said he wasn’t interested in men, he certainly kissed them well enough. Or, perhaps it had just been Stuart.

Murdoc was only half listening to this Wiffy Smiffy guy as he prattled on about contracts and record deals and the sort. He had already played this deal-making game once, he knew how it went. So when the contract was presented, and the group members all read over the terms of the contract, Murdoc snatched a pen from the desk and scribbled out some illegible chicken scratch he claimed was his signature. It wasn’t, but Murdoc was the only one in that room who knew that, and he wasn’t about to rat himself out by revealing his loophole just yet. The contract had been signed, and the Gorillaz as they now called the band had a label funding their album.  
The drive back to Kong Studios was one to remember. Crammed inside Murdoc’s Winnebago, Murdoc at the wheel with Stuart sitting shotgun, and Noodle and Russel at the back table playing cards, spirits were high and Murdoc was in the mood to celebrate again. Of course, he wasn’t about to announce to the whole cabin that he thought getting shitfaced tonight was the best course of action, especially with the little Noodle within earshot, but he was more than willing to pitch the idea to Stuart.  
“Oi, Dents.”  
“Hm?” Stuart looked over at Murdoc, having been spaced out for a good twenty minutes since leaving London.  
“Let’s drop the kid and Russ off at the Studio and then go have ourselves some fun, eh? You know, go down to a bar, have a few drinks and all that.”  
“Sure, I guess that’d be alrigh’,” Stuart replied, smiling a little. He didn’t really care what they did, he was just glad Murdoc was paying attention to him again. He missed it sometimes, back when it was just Murdoc and him. When there was nothing to do except go to work and come home. When Murdoc would tell him how well he played piano and how famous they were going to be someday. Stuart wanted Murdoc to compliment him again, but for now he would settle for a night with him at a bar, because that’s all he knew he could get until Murdoc figured out his own head.  
And so after dropping off Russel and Noodle at the Studio, Stuart and Murdoc drove into the more populated part of Essex. Murdoc muttered something about having to go to a different bar tonight, and Stuart wondered for a moment what he meant. Though, it didn’t matter that much, so he didn’t think too long on it.  
Murdoc parked the Winnie, the only vehicle any of them had at the moment, and Stuart followed him inside a dingy little bar that was covered in neon signs. Inside was strikingly different, having only a few tables near the outer walls, a small dance floor without a DJ, and a bar with seven barstools at it. While there weren’t many people on the dance floor, if you could call it that, there were plenty of people getting drunk at the bar, eyes glued to the television that sat at the end of the row. Murdoc and Stuart sat down at one of the tables, the only places there was any room at. Murdoc drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for the barkeep to swing by. Stuart didn’t mind the wait. He wasn’t desperate for a drink like Murdoc seemed to be. As strange as it sounded, he was just enjoying his time tonight. This was all supposed to be in celebration, but he didn’t really feel like celebrating much. If anything, he didn’t want to drink at all. He knew he couldn’t take his headache medication for a while if he drank, and alcohol didn’t chase away his headaches the same way the painkillers did. But, Murdoc had wanted to drink in celebration to getting signed onto a label, and Stuart wanted to spend time with Murdoc, and so here he sat at a table in a bar with Murdoc, in a relatively sober state instead of back at the Studio, stoned off his ass. When described like that, it almost sounded like Murdoc was a positive influence. He wasn’t, and either way Stuart’s liver would be needed to boost its defenses for the night.  
Murdoc was able to order sooner than expected with how many people were at the bar, and he went straight to the rum tonight. Stuart, wanting something to drink more than something just pure alcoholic, ordered a mojito and pretended like he wasn’t ordering it for flavorings. When the drinks arrived, they toasted to the success to the band, and Murdoc downed his glass in one go. Stuart, knowing full well he’d be stuck driving home that night if either of them wanted to make it back to the Studio alive, only took a sip from his drink instead of chugging it. Not that one would chug a mojito in the first place, but the reasoning behind the action was still sound enough to warrant it.  
The night carried on like that for a while before the bartender cut Murdoc off, saying he was much too drunk already to be able to give him any more. In the bartender’s defense, Murdoc could barely stand without supporting himself on the table. Stuart was only on his third drink, a margarita nowhere near close to being finished. Murdoc, pissed at the bartender for refusing him service, stole sips from Stuart’s drink when the blue-haired man wasn’t looking. On the fourth steal, Stuart when to grab him drink and ended up grabbing Murdoc’s hand on the glass. Stuart looked over from where he had been spacing out, confused as to why what he thought was still his glass was warm. Murdoc, almost frightened by the contact, stared at Stuart much like a deer would when caught in headlights. The two stayed like that for a moment because Murdoc coughed and feigned anger, pulling his hand away. Stuart, a bit confused, pushed his drink over to Murdoc.  
“You can ‘ave it if you want, Mudz,” Stuart said.  
“You don’ wan’ it?” Murdoc’s voice was slurred, worse than the last time he went out and celebrated a victory for the band with alcohol.  
“It wasn’t the taste I was lookin’ for is all.” Murdoc took that answer as good enough, and pulled the glass further to his side of the table. He drank it much like he did the other ones, fast and unappreciative. Stuart thought for a moment that - despite the fact that his skin had almost a green undertone to it, that his teeth were rather pointed and his tongue was the freakiest thing Stuart had ever seen, that he had heterochromic eyes, and that his temper was a ticking time bomb when drunk and sober - Murdoc looked rather endearing like this. He had the facial blush of a drunk, and spoke with the slur of three. And yet, Stuart found the red that had crept onto his face, and the hazy, almost confused look in his eyes as endearing as one could when face to face with Murdoc Niccals.  
A half an hour later, the bartender insisted that Murdoc pay the tab he started for the night. Stuart, knowing full well that Murdoc didn’t have any money, handed the bartender his credit card. When his card was returned, Stuart helped Murdoc walk back to the Winnebago, despite the protests and the insistent “I can walk by myself!”’s. They both knew that Murdoc would fall on either his face or his ass if Stuart let go of him, and yet Murdoc’s pride insisted that he demand to be let go of regardless.  
The drive home was an interesting one. Murdoc ended up throwing up in the bathroom of the Winnie, and Stuart pulled over so he could hold back Murdoc’s hair. When his stomach had settled, Murdoc leaned into Stuart’s touch, mumbling something about an angel’s touch. Stuart figured he had just imagined it though, and yet he gently carded his fingers through Murdoc’s hair. Murdoc didn’t stop him, didn’t hit him or yell at him or grab his wrist and tell him to ‘piss off’, and so Stuart didn’t stop until Murdoc had passed out leaning against him. Stuart smiled, though it was all to himself, as he carried Murdoc to the only bed in the Winnebago. Murdoc’s bed. The bed Stuart had sat on time and time again as Murdoc cleaned the wounds Stuart would receive after sleeping with Paula. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but every time that happened it felt like Murdoc was in a mood more sour than normal. And yet, he’d take great care in trying to limit the amount of pain Stuart felt each time he cleaned out a bleeding bite mark or a cut from her nails that was a tad too deep to be left alone.  
Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but those moments had been nice. Those moments were part of the reason Stuart never told Paula to quit being so damn rough all the time.  
Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but Stuart was enjoying this moment too. He enjoyed carding his fingers through Murdoc’s hair, and carrying Murdoc to bed after he passed out drunk against him, and the peaceful silence that fell over the motor home after Stuart had put Murdoc onto his bed so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the bathroom floor or in a chair.  
Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but when Stuart kissed Murdoc’s cheek, he thought for a moment he saw Murdoc’s blush increase. That Murdoc had been faking being out cold, and that Murdoc had smiled ever so slightly at the small sign of affection in the private, enclosed environment of Murdoc’s home-on-the-road. Stuart didn’t think so though, despite how Murdoc didn’t actually seem to deny enjoying the first kiss he had given Stuart, only detested the idea of someone else finding out. And of course, Stuart wouldn’t be one to kiss and tell. Yet Stuart shrugged it off as the alcohol, and then he got back into the driver’s seat, and drove the rest of the way back home. Back to Kong Studios, where he would park the Winnebago outside, and then go back inside up to his room and sleep and hope Murdoc wasn’t hung over in the morning and in a terrible mood.  
Stuart, thoughtful as ever, didn’t go directly to his room and to bed. First he stopped by the first floor bathroom and grabbed one of his bottles of pain medication. Then, he went back out to the Winnie and left the bottle of pills on the counter with another sticky-note, just like he had the last time Murdoc decided to drink himself stupid. And then, after all that, Stuart went to bed, not thinking about what happened and where his mind had gone on the way home.  
After all, it must’ve just been the alcohol talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so guess who had been on a roll writing-wise and got so caught up in working on Chapter 14 that they forgot Chapter 13 hadn't been posted yet...yeah that would be me. But hey! It's update time! Things are starting to pick up the pace now (:  
> Happy 15th day of Halloween! I have a couple of projects in the works, and while I'm not sure if I'll ever finish them, hopefully a few of them will be finished in time for Halloween!


	14. At Times, Rocks are Smooth as Silk

Making music could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Making music with Murdoc, and a snarky eight-year-old, and a ghost who likes himself some pranks, was a greater pain in the ass than one would think. Business as usual was unprofessional, unorganized, and unrelated to making music entirely. It was, however, fun. Incredibly entertaining, and a nearly daily occurrence.  
And yet, despite the fact that they tried to record every day, some great amount of emphasis needed to be placed on the word “tried”, because Murdoc was frequently and without cause incredibly moody and would refuse to work with anyone. When that occurred, Stuart would either pop some pills and avoid Murdoc, or pop some pills and try to cheer him up. Today, evidently, was one of the days that Stuart - though it wasn't very surprising - popped some pills. He also tried to cheer Murdoc up, though after four months of these periodic occurrences, he still didn't quite know how.  
They were in Murdoc’s room, and Stuart sat at the foot of Murdoc’s bed as the Satanist strummed his bass. He didn't really play anything specific, it was mostly just to make sound. There were too many thoughts in his head, and he wanted to drown them all in loud music and alcohol. Really though, what Murdoc wanted was to snort the speed he still had. But, he was saving that for something really special. A moment in his life that no other form of celebration could suffice. The waiting killed him though, but he managed, reminding himself of how great it would be when the occasion occurred.  
If the occasion occurred.  
But, Murdoc didn't think about the if’s, only the when's. Stuart was doing some thinking of his own, despite his fogged up mind.  
“Hey Mudz?” He almost didn't want to break the atmosphere Murdoc’s bass created. But he did, the moment he spoke up, Murdoc stopped playing. He was listening. It was the only indication that he was listening, but he was truly listening.  
“What?”  
“Would it cheer you up if we kissed again?” The tension that filled the air was suffocating. Stuart knew he shouldn't have said that the moment the words fell from his lips. But he said it anyway, because he had already started saying it.  
“Don't be fucking ridiculous, dullard!” Murdoc’s voice rose like thunder with malice, but when the frightened Stuart looked up at Murdoc, he didn't see what the man's voice suggested. Murdoc glanced at the door. It was closed. He leaned close, his voice barely audible. “Yes.”  
It was one word, one syllable, one sound, but it was all Stuart needed to hear. He was on top of Murdoc in an instant, kissing him like his life depended on it. Murdoc's bass was pinned between them, and was burning a hole through Stuart's shirt. Murdoc had his hands at Stuart's waist, and Stuart had his hands on Murdoc's cheeks. He held them together, and if it was many quick kisses or one long kiss, neither could really tell. It didn't last very long though, because eventually the bass guitar burned through Stuart's shirt entirely and reached skin. Stuart yelped, scrambling back from the guitar and doubling over to hold his stomach in pain.  
“Shit,” Murdoc muttered as he set down his guitar and moved to take a look at the burn the bass had left. His touch was gentle as he moved Stuart's hands. He thanked Satan when he saw it wasn't too bad. It wouldn't scar if it was taken care of. It wasn't even that large of a burn, the worst of it was from the strings. Those had been pressed into Stuart's abdomen for a decent enough moment.  
Stuart didn't say anything. He bit his lip, trying to hold back a whimper as Murdoc lightly touched the burn. The man's gentleness felt odd to Stuart, but it certainly wasn't unwelcomed.  
“I guess you're just too hot for me to handle,” he said as Murdoc got up, trying to keep the silence between them from growing tense. Murdoc looked at Stuart, almost appearing confused by the flirtatious remark. Eventually he flashed Stuart a toothy grin, his smile resembling that of an animated shark, pointed teeth and all.  
“Yeah, I'm hot as hell.” It dawned on Murdoc a bit too late that Stuart didn’t exactly know just how large of a pun that was. But, the blue-haired man snickered anyway, taking it as a reference to Murdoc’s religion.  
Murdoc left for a moment to get burn cream from the bathroom, leaving Stuart alone in his room with his thoughts. Mostly, his thoughts of the other times the guitar had burned him. None of those events should’ve happened, and yet, they did. However, Murdoc seemed to be fine whenever he touched the bass. Now that Stuart thought about it, Murdoc was the only one he ever saw touch his bass. Just a bit of magic, Murdoc had told him once. But, Stuart thought that it was more than that. He knew Murdoc was a Satanist, maybe he dabbled in witchcraft as well. Perhaps Murdoc had charmed the guitar, and that’s why no one else could touch it. Or, maybe Murdoc’s magical energy was contained inside the guitar, and the power the raw energy emitted burned those who didn’t have the arcane strength to withstand it. What if there was a ghost or a poltergeist trapped inside of the guitar? Did witches even mess around with ghosts, or was that something else? What if Murdoc wasn’t really a witch, but actually a ghost? Is that why he’s always so cold? No, that couldn’t be. That wouldn’t explain why the guitar could burn other people. Had Murdoc mentioned why before? Well, he said it had to do with magic, but that sounds like bullshit. Unless, maybe Murdoc is a witch?  
When Murdoc returned, Stuart decided he would ask him about it again, reaction be damned. Murdoc dressed Stuart’s wounds as Stuart tried to muster up the courage to say something.  
“Hey Mudz?”  
“You’re going to ask me about the guitar, aren’t you.” Shit, he’d been caught. Stuart nodded, looking rather small, and Murdoc just sighed. He didn’t speak again until after Stuart’s burns were taken care of. He sat beside the man and raked a hand through his greasy hair. For a moment, it crossed his mind how much softer Stuart’s hair was.  
“Yeah well, you’re bound to find out eventually anyways,” Murdoc said, his voice quiet. He was wary about someone listening in from the hall. “I sold my soul a ways back, and in that exchange I got my bass. Well, it was Satan’s bass first, and now it’s mine. That’s the gist of it, at least.”  
“So you’re a demon now or somefing?” Murdoc laughed, though his laugh was rather dark. It wasn’t like his normal, happy, almost cruel laugh that Stuart was used to.  
“No, nothin’ like that. Still human, just, a little different.”  
“Is that why your teef are so sharp?” Stuart couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know more, he wanted to hear Murdoc talk, he couldn’t help but ask questions to try and keep the conversation going. “Are you gonna die someday or are you gonna live forever now? What’d you even ask for in return?”  
“Slow down, Dents, one at a time!” Murdoc laughed, well, really he chortled, but nonetheless he was amused. He ruffled Stuart’s hair, and for a moment, nothing mattered. Everything was alright. He wasn’t an outcast. His father held no power over him. For a moment, he felt human.  
“Sorry, alroight, I guess I’ll pick one ‘en.” Stuart thought for a moment, actually pondering what question to ask first. “Um, what did, what’d you ask for in return?” Murdoc looked down, but his grin was plastered wide across his face.  
“When I get it, I’ll let you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as midterms are beginning, I manage to write this chunk of fluffy goodness! My apologies for the short chapter, but this scene is important and it ended nicely enough that I couldn't dare add onto it and risk ruining the gentle flow of the first crisp ending I've written in a while.  
> In case you haven't seen my updated bio, I do commission work! If you'd like to commission a story (or an artwork) from me, please check out [my commissions page](https://smokedoutcoldstar.tumblr.com/commissions) and contact me [on my tumblr](https://smokedoutcoldstar.tumblr.com). Additional means of contact are provided on the commissions page.  
> Love the story? Just love me? Want to help out? Consider [buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/pyromanic). You don't have to, it's 100% voluntary on your part! The story will continue onward regardless, and I will continue to love all my readers <3
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who comments, kudos, or just reads this like a sneaky ninja! Everything is greatly appreciated!


	15. At Other Times, Rocks Show Their Edges

Murdoc’s mood this past week had been a bit of a storm. The group continued working on recording, but as the week went on, Stuart’s heart slowly but surely was no longer being put into his vocals. A week since the night when Murdoc’s bass had burned Stuart’s abdomen. A week since the night when Stuart and Murdoc had kissed and spoke of demon deals. A week since Murdoc had been in a good enough mood for Stuart to poke fun. And after that, a week of Murdoc in a pisspoor mood from the stress of needing this album to be finished.  
“Fuck it, let’s just get lunch and we’ll get this afterwards,” Murdoc announced after botched recording number forty-something. He put his bass back onto its stand and left the recording room before any of the other members could protest. Noodle, who had been standing atop one of the larger amplifiers, hopped down and skipped off down the hall at the promise of a lunch break. Stuart sighed and took the headphones off, placing them back onto the mic stand as Russel walked over to him.  
“Something’s up,” was all the man said. It was all the man needed to say. Behind him, somewhere in his shadow on the wall was Del, silently nodding in agreement. Stuart just shrugged.  
“I’m almost out of medication again.” That wasn’t the real reason there was a weight on Stuart’s mind. It actually wasn’t even a problem for him, because he could always go back home and steal more from his parents’ house, or buy them from a drugstore in a nearby town. No, Stuart was worried about Murdoc, worried about the way his mood would swing like a pendulum, and worried that he was the cause of those sudden shifts in mood. But Stuart swallowed his worries as best he could with a mind hazed with painkillers, and he headed downstairs with Russel for lunch.

“Pizza’s on its way,” Murdoc said from the couch, bottle of rum in hand, when Stuart and Russel walked off the stairs and into the living room. Russel glared at the bottle of alcohol, but he didn’t say anything about it. Stuart was just happy that it wasn’t a bottle of whiskey. He had learned over the time they had spent together that of all the different drinks Murdoc borderline binged, whiskey was the one that spelled out most clearly that something was wrong, and that Murdoc was doing to be especially difficult until he sobered up or passed out. Typically the latter of the two occurred first.  
A squeal of joy could be heard from the other side of the couch as Noodle punched the air with a fist, clutching her game controller in her other hand. The television screen was flashing colours of all sorts. She must’ve completed a level, or something along those lines.  
Russel sat at the table in the kitchen, newspaper up slightly as he read the tabloids. Stuart decided to sit in the armchair off to the side of the couch and watch Noodle play her game. He couldn’t help but sneak glances at Murdoc though. The colourful, fast-paced graphics of Excitebike would only hold his attention for so long before he’d look over slightly and see Murdoc take a swig from his bottle. The man was paying close attention to the game, almost as if he was fascinated by it. Noodle didn’t seem to care as she completed another race.  
Stuart thought, for just a moment, that there could be a song to be made out of that screen. The flashing lights, the colours, the graphics. It could all be made into something more, something better. Stuart left the room without a word, heading straight for his keyboard upstairs.  
The keyboard welcomed his creativity, but the medication he frequented made his movements sloppy. Sloppy, imprecise, missing keys and misreading notes. Writing the wrong notes here, forgetting lyrics, holding one note for more beats that it needed to be. Until the sound stopped, though the key was still pressed. In the back of his mind, Stuart considered that he should stop taking the pills when something - anything - mildly affected him. Something stronger snuffed the thought out. More keys were pressed. More words and notes scribbled down in illegible chicken scratch. He had forgotten to set up the recorder. When he sobered up - if he let himself sober up anytime soon - he would have hell trying to decipher the complex code he was creating. But for now, in his high, he simply created his song.  
Little did Stuart know, outside his door, Murdoc was listening. He was leaning against the wall, lost in this moment in time. Immersed in the odd sounds Stuart's fingers pulled from the keys. Murdoc smiled to himself, muttering something only he could hear before he continued his way down the hall. All the while, Stuart never noticed the man outside his door, entranced again for only a moment by the music he made.  
Recording was easier that evening. They did several takes, and though only one of those takes was done well enough to meet Murdoc’s high standards for the album, it was still more progress than prior. Noodle went off to bed almost immediately after Murdoc declared the session to be over. Russel followed not long after, having been quite tired from both drumming and channeling a spirit for hours. It left Stuart and Murdoc alone in the recording studio. Murdoc’s thoughts were of earlier that day, when he overheard Stuart working on what he was sure would be a song Stuart would propose to him sometime later. Right now, though, he figured it was foolish to wait so long as tomorrow.  
“What were you making, Dents?” Murdoc was sitting on one of the larger amplifiers against the wall, one foot up on the top and the other on the floor for some illusion of stability. Stuart looked over at Murdoc, slightly confused and slightly afraid the man wouldn’t really want to hear about it.  
“Was just writing somefing,” Stuart replied, figuring ambiguity would be a safezone for the time being. If there was one thing Stuart could turn to, it was ambiguity. Murdoc wasn’t having any of it that night though. He wanted to know.  
“You gonna share that something?” Stuart’s expression turned to that of surprise. He didn’t remember everything he had composed in the haze of his medication, but he remembered enough. Stuart nodded, and played through the first bit a moment to get ahold of what he was doing. Murdoc turned on a recorder while Stuart played, already feeling the odd draw to the music he felt every time Stuart had sung for just him.  
At the end of it, Murdoc looked Stuart in the eyes and told him that would be the first thing they recorded tomorrow. Stuart beamed with pride as Murdoc turned off the recorder. It was the last thing he expected, but just before Murdoc left the room, he kissed Stuart’s cheek. Stuart watched, slightly dumbfounded by the sudden display of affection not behind closed doors, as Murdoc left the recording room and presumably went to his room to turn in for the night. This was not a night where Stuart planned to medicate himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this is, but I wanted to post something before the holidays. Unfortunately, "posting something before the holidays" seems to have equated to "posting something before the holidays are over". Nevertheless, the chapter is here.  
> I've decided that I'm going to split the story into approximately five parts: pre-Phase One, Phase One, Phase Two, Phase Three, and Phase Four. Right now we're inside of pre-Phase One, which I'm going to aim to finish up in the next few chapters. At my current rate of work, that'll be in a few months. Haaaaaah. Truly I am sorry for how slow these updates are coming along. I especially apologize to those who only look at my stuff for this story. I truly do not have enough works out.  
> I'm going to be needed to practice writing smut in preparation for a future chapter for this (the rating will finally be changed lol) so if any of you lovely readers have a pairing you're dying to see more sexy times of, feel free to drop me a message/ask/request over on my tumblr, smokedoutcoldstar  
> As always, thank you to everyone who reads, kudos, and comments <3 you are truly the reason this story has continued thusfar.


	16. Rocky Beginnings

It was nearly two years before the band was able to get any real collection of music out there on the scene. It was rough. Too rough. But, there it was. There it really was. A self-named debut album. Gorillaz. Murdoc considered making a human sacrifice to ensure the success of this album. Russell just decided what would happen, would happen. Noodle had no clue what was going on, and Stuart sat in a similar boat as Russell. He did hope, however, that the album would be successful. He knew how much Murdoc wanted this. He knew how long Murdoc had been waiting for this. It had been rough getting to this point.  
The largest rough patch had been when about half the album had been finished and the single was just released. To celebrate this achievement, Murdoc and Stuart went for another night out. The night ended as predictably as possible, with Murdoc drunk and Stuart barely even buzzed, annoyed that he was stuck dragging Murdoc’s drunken arse back to the car, but still having enjoyed the night just for the fact that he had gotten to spend time with Murdoc. The only difference in this night, however, was Murdoc almost got to another base.  
It was after Stuart had helped Murdoc back up to his room in the studio, insisting that he would appreciate a good bed in the morning over the convenience of the Winnebago sitting parked at ground level. Murdoc was laying on his bed, the room spinning too fast for him to be anything other than laying down. Stuart sat beside him, singing quietly, knowing full well he had an audience of one. Murdoc would make comments here and there, though his words were so slurred sometimes that for the most part, Stuart ignored them. Or he simply didn’t notice the comments being spoken. Between song number four and song number five, Murdoc leaned up as best he could and grabbed Stuart by his shirt collar. He pulled Stuart down for a kiss before the blue-haired man could do anything about it. Stuart kissed back, as they both had lost their reluctance quite some months ago when in the hidden company of only themselves. Murdoc still struggled with his thoughts, with who he was and what he didn’t want to acknowledge due to an irrational fear instilled in him from an irrational time period. But, with the encouragement of his good friends Jack and Daniels, as well as his childhood companion Captain Morgan, he was able to look beyond that fear and hatred to see his feelings in a clearer sense. A clearer, drunken haze viewport sort of sense. So he kissed Stuart like he meant it, like he only ever wanted his lips to be the ones against his own. And Stuart, sober as he sort of was, kissed back just as he always did. As he always did whether Murdoc was sober or drunk, hating himself for wanting Stuart or not caring enough about anything he did to notice that what he was doing was strikingly against the homophobic way he was raised. Murdoc, of course, didn’t ever truly realize that what he had been taught was blatantly homophobic, and Stuart just didn’t care enough about whether or not what he was doing was homosexual or not to bring the subject up at any time. What they did, they did, and what they didn’t do, they didn’t do.  
That is, until Murdoc went to unbutton Stuart’s jeans and Stuart grabbed his wrist to stop him. Murdoc looked up at Stuart, much like a deer caught in the headlights of an automobile. A sobering shame flooded Murdoc’s whole being. Stuart gave Murdoc a nervous, yet warm, smile. Murdoc took the smile as awkward rejection. Stuart only meant it as an I’m not upset, but I can’t accept.  
“Mudz, you’re drunk,” Stuart replied. Murdoc gave Stuart a look that screamed ‘yeah, the fuck’s your point?’, to which Stuart sighed and shook his head. “I’m not gonna fool aroun’ wif you like that when you’re drunk. I don’ wanna take a’van’age of you.” Murdoc stared at Stuart, long and hard and not knowing how to respond. Stuart’s cheeks grew hot under Murdoc’s stare. He feared he had said something wrong. He feared Murdoc was mad at him. But in that moment, right then, Murdoc was anything but. He hugged Stuart tight, as after what felt like an eternity in an embrace, he pulled back so he could crush his lips against Stuart’s once again.  
They kissed - well, they made out - until the immense amount of alcohol Murdoc had consumed that night decided to launch its attack, and Murdoc was sent scrambling for the bathroom down the hall. Stuart couldn’t help but laugh to himself as Murdoc rushed to make acquaintance with his rarely-neglected porcelain best friend. This had happened too often after a night out for Stuart to still think that Murdoc’s vomiting was a result of kissing him. So Stuart laid back and relaxed on Murdoc’s bed, considering sleep, as Murdoc emptied his stomach in the bathroom down the hall.  
In the morning though, Murdoc was less than joyous about the way he had come on to Stuart. Instead of talking it out like a sensible adult would, Murdoc took to drinking a bit more frequently, and pressed on for recording with more ferocity than was typical. It was grueling work, and Stuart turned to his pills more often than not from the stress and the fear and the wanting to just not feel like _this_ at the moment.  
But that was quite some time ago in comparison, and now the band had something to celebrate. Their first real album was released. Their first single has been received swimmingly, and so their album was expected by their producers to be a success as well.

There was a knock at Stuart’s door. It was sharp, but rather hesitant, barely audible to the just-recently high Stuart. He did his best to get off of his bed without tripping over or tangling himself in the sheets. His room was a mess, not unlike the room Murdoc had seen several years ago. Stuart still thought back to then, when his mind wasn’t fogged over in painkillers and other pills. He’d think back to when Murdoc would call him beautiful, to the bright look Murdoc would have whenever he talked about how great their band would be. He believed him and he believes him still.  
Murdoc was on the other side of the door. His head was bowed in almost shame when Stuart opened the door.  
“Dents I want you to spend the night in the Winnie with me.” The way he spoke made him sound nervous, and so Stuart just nodded and motioned for Murdoc to lead the way, afraid of saying something and invoking the bassist’s anger. Murdoc and Stuart did end up walking side by side, without fear of being caught doing something so domestic and friendly. That fear in the back of Murdoc’s mind was still blaring its warning that what Murdoc was feeling, what he wanted, what he thought, was beyond wrong. He shook his head though, not caring tonight. Tonight was about his success. Tonight was about having a good time, his childhood teachings be damned.  
Murdoc opened the door to the Winnebago, and Stuart stepped inside and went straight to sit down on the bed. It was the only real place to sit inside the mobile home. Inside was just as messy as Stuart’s room, dirty clothes littering the floor and dirty dishes piled up beside a small sink that was also filled with more dirty dishes. There were empty bottles of alcohol scattered around on the floor, ranging from whiskey to rum to beer to vodka. One or two of them were something Stuart didn’t recognize, not that he was as seasoned of an alcoholic as Murdoc was.  
Murdoc pulled from his pocket a bag of speed, his little amphetamine congratulations gift that he had been saving all this time.  
“Mudz, I’m not sure about that,” Stuart said, raising an eyebrow at the appearance of the hard drug. Pills, sure, but not something like _that_. Murdoc rolled his eyes, ignoring every flashing warning sign that was happening. This band, this album, it all was his greatest achievement, and he was going to celebrate as he so pleased to. He had missed the precious, energetic high of his one sweet angel, and he was going to indulge himself as he saw fit.  
“It’s only a bit more pure than Adderall, not much different than the pills you’re always popping,” Murdoc replied, giving Stuart a look that said ‘don’t think I didn’t notice’. He lined up the powder on the only clean space in the entire mobile home: the table. He pinched a small amount and rubbed it between his index and his thumb, making sure it was ground up fine enough that there wouldn’t be any problems when taking it. “Well, commere, Dents. Come celebrate with me, just you and me and the only good thing from my childhood.”  
“I’m good over here, fanks though.” Stuart looked almost uncomfortable, though whether it was from Murdoc’s hard drugs or just a side-effect of the pills Stuart had taken not too long ago couldn’t be determined. Stuart never had shown a strong discomfort around Murdoc’s habits before though, simply choosing to refrain from indulging to the degree that Murdoc did, though that was most likely because Murdoc was a glutton when it came to his vices and would most likely die from his indulgences.  
“Suit yourself, but you’re going to be missing out.” Murdoc fetched a straw from one of the cabinets, cut it into a much smaller piece, and returned to his table. Stuart watched as he split the powder into four neat rows and proceeded to snort one line through the straw. He snuffed up again when the straw was out of his nose, not a fan of the feeling of the powder only half-inside. Not that the feeling of snorting powder was enjoyable in any aspect, but half-inside powder was one of the more annoying feelings he would experience. He snorted up another line, repeating his previous actions. After a few moments, the high hit Murdoc like a freight train, and he looked over at Stuart, who still sat on the bed.  
His heart felt like it was racing, the room too hot and his mind going too fast. He could barely sit still, wanting to drum his fingers, tap his toe, bounce his leg, anything to expel some of this energy. He looked at Stuart again, though this time it was more of an appraisal than a noticing of his existence.  
“Mu’duc, you doing alroight over there?” Murdoc gave Stuart one of the largest grins the bluenette had ever seen. He had a wonderful idea that had only just occurred to him. Stuart was just as attractive as the other women he screwed, with his natural unnaturally-coloured hair and his missing front teeth and his damn black fucked up eyes. He all but sauntered over to where Stuart sat, fully intending on attempting to seduce the man before the fearful part of his brain cleared up enough to realize that he was trying to seduce a _man_. Stuart was rather confused by it all, by everything Murdoc was doing, right up to the point where Murdoc put his arms around Stuart’s shoulders and straddled Stuart’s lap.  
“I’m doing well,” he finally replied, just before he kissed Stuart, his drug keeping his heart going a million miles an hour. The way Stuart kissed back wasn’t reluctant, not even close, but it was more hesitant than it would be even when Murdoc had been drinking. Murdoc kissed up Stuart’s jawline and down the man’s neck, and Stuart let out a quiet hum of approval. It was when Murdoc started to grind against the man’s hips that Stuart did push him back though.  
“Mudz, I’m not going there when you aren't sober.” Stuart very much wanted to go there, but he still didn’t truly know if Murdoc did as well, because the only other time that he had tried to initiate that was when he was drunk.  
“Do you know what I sold my soul for?” Murdoc asked as he moved to gently push Stuart back so he was laying down on the bed. He nibbled at Stuart’s lip, sharp teeth threatening to break skin the moment he bit down. Murdoc’s voice changed to a whisper, though he still didn’t give Stuart a chance to respond. “I sold it for this.” Stuart looked at Murdoc almost as if he was looking at an imbecile child.  
“You sold your soul to get me in your bed?” Murdoc collapsed onto Stuart, laughing so hard he was nearly weezing. Stuart felt his face heat up from embarrassment, thinking Murdoc was laughing at him.  
“No, Satan no, I sold it in exchange for a successful band!” He took a deep breath, though it was rather staggered as his lungs threatened to fall into another laughing fit. Stuart let out a relieved chuckle, realizing that Murdoc had been laughing at his words and not at Stuart himself.  
“You think that we’re going to be successful?”  
“Clint Eastwood has already been received well. We just put out our first album. This is it, Dents, this is how we get famous.” Stuart couldn’t help but smile at Murdoc’s enthusiasm. The man was wired beyond belief, unable to stay still for even a moment, kissing Stuart and drumming his fingers when he wasn’t talking.  
“Does that mean you lose your soul now?” Stuart asked, more interested in the terms of Murdoc’s demon deal than with another opportunity to make out with the man. “Should I worry about demons coming an’ taking you away?”  
“What’s the matter, Dents, fallen in love with me?” Murdoc laughed as he spoke, teasing Stuart to no end. Though, had he been sober, he would’ve been horrified by both his words and the fact that he considered that an option.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re terrible,” Stuart teased right back, though he didn’t actually think murdoc to be terrible. “I wanna know if I’m going to wake up one morning stuck as band leader. I don’t wanna be band leader, I like just being pianist.”  
“And singer! Front man of the band!” Murdoc, even now, would frequently remind Stuart of what position he held in the band, and just how important the beautiful man was. Murdoc’s words, not Stuart’s.  
“My point is,” Stuart said with a sigh, trying to keep the conversation from trailing off on whatever drug-induced adventure Murdoc was experiencing, “what ‘appens now ‘at you’ve gotten your end of your demon deal?” Murdoc was quiet for quite some time. At first it unnerved Stuart, as the man feared he had struck a nerve and that Murdoc was mustering up the coherent thoughts to kick him out. After a while, Stuart thought Murdoc had fallen asleep, had it not been for the tapping that was nearly nonstop. A nonstop pattern of tap tap tap as Murdoc couldn’t just lay still while inebriated. Fuck Murdoc’s angel drug, the tapping and was starting to hurt Stuart’s head.  
“Nothing happens,” Murdoc finally replied, after what felt like ages. “I sold my soul, I got what I paid for. End of story, roll credits, throw away your popcorn and go home.” Stuart nodded, and couldn’t help himself as he hugged Murdoc close. He was glad Murdoc was going to be alright, or at least as alright as a functioning alcoholic and frequent substance-abuser could be. The two laid there for a while, Murdoc resuming to kiss little lines down Stuart’s neck, and Stuart not letting Murdoc initiate anything terribly sexual while he was still under the influence of his amphetamines.  
After some time of that, Murdoc ended up having too much pent up energy, and walked out of the Winnie, all but dragging Stuart behind him. Stuart didn’t mind, though it was quite cold outside in the middle of the night. He enjoyed spending time with Murdoc, and he was rather happy to be out of the dingy motorhome. He never really did understand why Murdoc had such an affinity for the Winnebago. The man often displayed strong distaste for all other motorhomes, preferring the look of grand mansions and imported muscle cars over something as trash as a motorhome. And yet, when Stuart offered to buy Murdoc’s Winnebago out of the impound over two years ago, Murdoc looked as if he were to display hearts in his eyes.  
Murdoc laced his fingers with Stuarts, clumsily holding the man’s hand as he lead them around the Studio's grounds. The grounds that were rumoured to be haunted. The grounds that they knew were haunted but didn’t particularly care. The band’s rapper was a spook, a spirit of sorts, a ghost, a being from the ethereal plane. Hauntings were not a foreign entity in the new, over two years old lives of the members of Gorillaz.  
Gorillaz. The band Murdoc had quite literally sold his soul to receive. Part of him had given up hope some many years ago, though he still followed his new god - well, his devil - regardless in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, one day the demon would keep its word. Sure enough, though the first album had only been just released, Murdoc knew he had something different. He had something special. He could feel it.

When the wind picked up, Stuart whimpered in the cold. Murdoc looked at him, almost as if he was going to say something rude and remotely snarky. Instead of speaking, he just took off his leather jacket and held it out for Stuart to take. When Stuart only stared at the offering, not putting it on, Murdoc shook the jacket in front of Stuart to catch his attention better.  
“But Mu’doc, then you’re gonna get cold.”  
“So? Just take the damn jacket before I change my mind.” Stuart couldn’t help but smile as he took the leather jacket from Murdoc. He wondered for a moment if the return of Murdoc’s snappiness was him coming off his high. Stuart slipped on Murdoc’s jacket, though the sleeves were a bit too short for him, and appreciated the warmth it held. Murdoc didn’t say anything, but he didn’t intend on asking for his jacket back. At least, not anytime soon. He might later on, far down the road when Stuart lost it, and then refound it, and by then had forgotten where he had gotten it. But, for the time being, Murdoc didn’t expect to get the jacket back. And, in a way, he didn’t want it back either.  
It was nearly sunrise when the two went back to the Winnebago, freezing cold and hands nearly numb. The frosty air froze the drug from Murdoc’s system. At least, it would’ve if that was a possibility in the cold. How neither of them sustained any major or permanent damage from their far too long of a walk, neither was sure. But Murdoc was sober at this point, for better or for worse, and Stuart was already curling up under the warmth of the sheets and duvet of Murdoc’s small, single bed. Murdoc didn’t really make a fuss about it though, and while later on he insisted it was just his drugs, he was for the most part sober and for the most part climbing into bed with Stuart. He ended up falling asleep with Stuart in his arms, curled around his side, and while Stuart intended on sneaking out in the morning before Murdoc awoke, for the time being he enjoyed the closeness he was able to share with the bassist.

Stuart did not end up sneaking out like he originally planned. Well, not successfully at least. As Stuart was trying to get out of Murdoc’s bed, he ended up waking up the man in the process. Instead of a typical, piss-poor mood, Murdoc just yawned and watched Stuart and his long limbs struggle with the many sheets. It was only when Stuart finally made it out and down to the floor that Murdoc spoke.  
“So, did we fuck or what?” Stuart, frozen light a deer in headlights, slowly turned to look at Murdoc. He was met with a wide, toothy grin that on anyone else would’ve been unnerving. Actually, it was unnerving on Murdoc as well, the two things just didn’t click to Stuart as they should’ve.  
“We didn’t. You got high, I fell asleep.” Murdoc knew, of course. He hadn’t been that far gone the night before, especially considering he was entirely sober now, though still a bit tired from not sleeping his preferred amount of all through the afternoon. But, he also wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to tease Stuart.  
“What a shame. I always pictured the day I became successful to be filled with beautiful women and victory sex.” Stuart could feel the blush creep up to his ears before he could dispel the thoughts from his mind. It was too early in the morning. It was too far from the last time he had his sweet, mind-numbing pain killers. He searched Murdoc’s face, played over Murdoc’s words, trying to determine if the man was being serious or if this was a trap. He decided to be bold. Stuart took a step closer to the bed, closer to where Murdoc was laying on his side.  
“Maybe it’s just a day late? It could happen today.” Murdoc stared at Stuart, and a heaviness fell about the air during the silence. Stuart felt uncomfortable. He had made a mistake, he was sure of it. In all actuality, he hadn’t made a mistake at all. Murdoc had been surprised by how bold Stuart was being. The wide, toothy grin returned to Murdoc’s face as he eyed Stuart up, much like one would eye up a new sports car. He leaned close, and ran a hand through Stuart’s hair. His hair was starting to get greasy from a few days without a shower, but for some odd reason it was still soft. It was always soft. Soft and blue and comforting. Soft and blue and Stuart. Stuart moved closer to Murdoc, wanting his touch, loving the feeling of the man running his fingers through his hair. Murdoc spoke after his moment of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.  
“I think it could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that sums up what happened before Phase One! Thank you dearly to everyone who stuck around to see this thing through. It's been a wild ride writing this, and while I'm a bit sad to see this story end, I'm also glad that I can now work on more things for all you lovelies. I hope that you've all enjoyed this adventure with me!
> 
> Have questions? Thoughts? Just want to talk to the author? I'm [smokedoutcoldstar](https://smokedoutcoldstar.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.  
> Enjoyed the story? Please consider [buying me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/pyromanic)

**Author's Note:**

> I will be trying to keep this as close to canon as possible, and fill in the blanks on my own when they appear. There will be a lot of blanks for me to fill in, since this will be more than just a general overview. Tags will be updated as time goes on, because fuck if I know what I'll end up putting in here.


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